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m 


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1995 


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I        i, 

.    I 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S 
DAUGHTER 


:  i 


I 


■•Shf  looked  like  ;i  cardiiKiI-liird  in  ),er  red  Kolfiiig  jersey." 

[Page  60) 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S 
DAUGHTER 


BT 

ALICE  JONES 

AVTHO*  or  "lUllLIt  Wt  BUY"  UID 
"OAWIIL  rilAtO't  CAITLE" 


ILLUSTRATES 


NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 

D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1913 


0523  ■ 


ComtGHT,  191S,  iv 
O.  APPLKTON  AND  COMPANT 


Printed  m  the  Uir'Oil  Stales  «!  Americs 


TO 

SIR  WILFRED   LAURIER 

MY  FATHER'S  FRIEND 


CONTENTS 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 


VAGI 

Suspense i 

Sabine's  Hotel ii 

Lady  Wakkenden's  Villa    ....  33 

The  Chateauguav 31 

The  Fatted  Calf 41 

Friends 48 

The  Bluff  House 59 

A  Day's  Fishing 68 

Off  Gasf£ 75 

The   Wenonah 85 

Fossils 93 

Off  Perc£ 103 

St.  Anne's  Shrine jii 

Up  the  River 133 

A  Fresb  Start 136 

In  the  Dawning 145 

The  Sabine  Family 152 

The  Cousins 164 

A  Comforter 183 

Midsummer 191 

Owl's  Nest 304 

Father  and  Daughter 316 

Jack's  Adventure 330 

From  a  Clear  Sky 242 

Lady  Warrenden's  Retreat       .      .      .  357 

The  Sands  Run  Out    .      .      .      .      .  368 

Virginia    Camp 380 

Restitution 394 

Out  in  the  Storm 309 

Wedding  Bells 331 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAavo 

rAOK 

"She  looked  like  a  cardinal-birc*  in  her  red  golfing  jer- 
sey"      Frontispiece 

"'Good-bye,  Jack.  Come  back  soon,'  and  her  hand 
clung  to  his" 143 

"  'God  knows  I  want  nothing  more  than  to  take  care  of 
you  always' " 213 

"'Father!  Father!'  she  murmured" 298 


Marcus  Holbeach's  Daughter 


CHAPTER  I 


SUSPENSE 


THE  March  afternoon  sun  shone  ttndinuned  by 
cloud-drift  above  the  dormant  white  North- 
land.  On  the  rounded  hills  that  sheltered  the 
bay  from  the  outer  Gulf,  the  bronze-green, 
primeval  forest  rose  somberly,  rank  on  rank  against  the 
crystal-clear  sky,  but  over  the  fields  fringing  their  base, 
the  snow  stretched  unscarred  by  snake-fences,  or  clear- 
ing stumps.  Winter  was  nearing  its  end,  and  such  traces 
of  man's  handiwork  had  long  since  been  covered  by  suc- 
cessive snow-falls.  Below  the  bluff  lay  the  Basin,  a  solid 
white  plain,  only  marked  by  black  lines  of  bcUises,  rows 
of  small  spruce  trees  set  up  at  the  beginning  of  every 
winter  to  trace  the  safest  track  for  man  and  beast  to 
cross  the  ice.  The  tides  of  the  outer  bay  were  also  frost- 
bound,  and  even  from  the  heights  of  Cap  Rosier,  the  steep 
headland  fifteen  miles  out,  nothing  save  solid  ice  or  floes 
could  be  seen  along  the  Gaspe  coast,  and  northward  to- 
ward Anticosti,  hidden  in  its  wintry  isolation. 

It  was  now  four  months  since  the  lights  on  Cap  Rouge 
or  Gasp£  Head  had  shone  out  nightly.  The  perils  of  the 
sea  were  in  abeyance  since  winter  had  warned  off  all  tres- 
passers upon  her  domain. 

I 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


But  even  amid  this  white  desolation  there  were  still 
signs  of  man  holding  his  own  against  the  Powers  of  the 
North.  From  every  unit  in  the  string  of  scattered  pink 
or  white  houses  edging  the  road  there  rose  into  the  still 
air  a  steady  line  of  soft  blue  wood-smoke,  telling  of  plen- 
tiful fires  in  the  Wg  French  stoves.  From  the  hillsides 
came  the  rhythmical  ring  of  axes  where  men  were  cut- 
ting next  year's  supply  of  fuel  on  their  wood-lots,  and 
around  the  houses,  children  shouted  as  they  played  in  the 
snow  or  coasted  on  the  well-beaten  roads.  But  over 
across  the  Basin,  near  the  stream  that  in  its  early  sum- 
mer turbulence  supplies  the  salmon  hatchery,  was  one  of 
the  smallest  of  houses  around  which  echoed  no  children's 
voices.  Here  Mrs.  LeRoy  lived  alone— Mrs.  LeRoy, 
whom  some  called  the  wise  woman  from  her  skill  in  the 
concocting  of  healing  drinks  and  liniments  from  wild 
roots  and  leaves. 

"For  sure,  'twas  the  old  squaws  as  Uught  her  the  se- 
cret things  she  knows,"  said  gossips  whose  families  had 
benefited  by  her  skill,  while  others,  more  envious,  sug- 
gested that  her  wisdom  had  an  unhallowed  source. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  none  denied  the  cures  her  salves 
and  liniments  had  wrought,  and  so  far  had  her  fame 
spread  that  the  fishermen  from  Mai  Baie  and  Perce  and 
Grand  Greve  often  came  to  her  instead  of  to  old  Dr.  Mc- 
Leod,  and  before  going  up  to  the  winter  lumber-camps, 
men  called  in  at  the  pink  cottage  for  a  bottle  of  cough- 
mixture,  or  salve  of  balsam-fir  bark  for  wounds,  to  take 
with  them,  leaving  money  to  pay  for  tea  and  flour  and 
pork,  so  that  the  little  home  was  frugally  prosperous. 

Mrs.  LeRoy  sat  in  her  living-room,  used  also  in  winter 
as  kitchen.    It  was  a  not  tmcheerful  place  with  its  well- 
scrubbed  floor  strewn  with  bright-colored  hooked  mats, 
and  one  or  two  fine  skins  of  caribou  and  wildcat,  its 
2 


I 


SUSPENSE 


I 


big  red-hearted  stove,  and  its  two  windows  looking  down 
the  sunlit  slope  to  the  white  stretch  of  Basin.    From  rows 
of  hooks  in  the  rafters  hung  bundles  of  dry  herbs,  and 
queerly  shaped  roots,  with  outlines  suggesting  the  mum- 
mied cats  and  ibis  of  old  Egypt,  shapes  at  which  many  a 
nervous  glance  was  cast  by  patients,  half  in  awe  of  the 
skii:  they  were  invoking.    On  the  stove  bubbled  a  big 
pot,  its  steam  filling  the  place  with  aromatic  forest  scents. 
In  the  sunny  window  hung  a  cage   holding   a   tawny- 
breasted  robin,  and  a  bright-eyed  brown  squirrel  squatted 
upright  on  the  dresser's  edge  w  tching  his  owner.    Mrs. 
LeRoy  sat  before  a  big  frame  that  held  a  square  of  can- 
vas partially  covered  with  an  archaic  design  of  oak  leaves 
in  red  and  yellow.    Her  skill  at  hooking  mats  was  well 
known,  and  she  had  taken  more  than  one  prize  at  county 
exhibitions,  but  now,  though  her  bundle  of  brightly  dyed 
rags  lay  beside  her,  and  her  puncher  was  in  her  hand, 
her  frequent  glances  toward  the  window  told  that  her 
mind  was  not  on  her  work. 

Once  or  twice  she  got  up  and  moved  restlessly  about 
her  small  domain,  stirring  the  contents  of  the  kettle  or 
adding  a  log  to  the  fire. 

A  large,  massive  woman  of  almost  masculine  strength 
and  build,  the  features  of  her  impassive  face  were  reg- 
ular, and  though  her  sixty  years  had  graven  deep  enough 
lines  of  sorrow  and  care,  yet  there  was  no  bitterness 
against  the  inevitable.  Hers  was  rather  the  passive  ac- 
ceptance of  fate  of  the  brooding  monumental  figures  that 
watch  over  the  Medicean  graves  at  Florence.  Her  voice 
as  she  spoke  to  the  squirrel  was  gentle,  and  he  whisked 
his  tail  and  chattered  fearlessly  in  answer,  then  returned 
to  the  same  pose. 

"Someone's  surely  comin',"  she  muttered.  "The  squir  1 
don't  listen  like  that  for  nothin'."    Then,  after  another 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


glance  from  the  window:  "Sure  enough,  here  she  is." 
Up  the  steep  slope  of  the  drifts,  a  girl  on  snowshoes 
was  speeding  with  the  quick  ease  of  one  well  used  to  the 
exercise.  Regardless  of  the  intense  cold,  Mrs.  LeRoy 
flung  her  door  hospiubly  wide,  letting  in  the  level  west- 
em  sunshine. 

"Oh,  don't.  You'll  be  froscnl"  protested  the  girl,  as 
she  stoc^d  to  loosen  the  soft  noose-hide  straps  binding 
her  slim  ankles. 
"Me?  No  cold  ever  hurt  me,"  was  the  answer. 
Indeed,  standing  there  in  her  dark  blue  cotton  dress,  a 
httle  red  woolen  shawl  around  her  shoulders,  the  strong 
frame  of  the  older  woman  seemed  to  welcome  as  a  tonic 
force  that  sharp  breath  of  boreal  air  as  it  swept  around 
her.  A  handsome  black-and-white  setter  that  had  fol- 
lowed the  girl  ran  up  to  fawn  on  her  as  a  familiar  friend, 
and  her  hand  rested  gently  on  its  head,  while  an  almost 
maternal  tenderness  softened  the  gray  eyes  where  lurked 
the  mystical  sombemess  of  her  Highland  forefathers. 

"You  and  Czar  fetch  the  sunlight  in  with  you,"  she 
said.  "I  knew  you'd  be  along  to-day.  The  squir'l's  been 
on  the  lookout  for  you." 

The  door  was  closed,  and  Virginia  Holbeach  glanced 
round  with  an  air  of  satisfied  familiarity,  before  she 
sank  into  the  shabby,  big  old  rocker  by  the  stove.  An 
incongruous  figure  she  seemed  in  such  surroundings,  for 
her  sealskin  coat  that  came  nearly  down  to  the  edge  of 
her  short  red  skirt  was  of  the  softest,  most  lustrous  qual- 
ity, and  the  little  fur  cap  that  rested  on  her  cloudy  brown 
hair  had  been  fashioned  by  a  practiced  hand.  Not  even 
in  Russia  are  the  fur  shops  more  sumptuous  than  in  Que- 
bec and  Montreal,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  Virginia's 
wraps  had  come  from  one  or  the  other  place.  When 
Mrs.  LeRoy  had  loosened  and  taken  the  costly  coat  with 
4 


SUSPENSE 


•  lingering  touch  that  betrayed  her  simple  feminine  pleat- 
UK  in  the  soft  fur,  the  white-and-pink  flowered  silk  Un- 
ing,  the  girl's  slimness  was  revealed.  Little  more  than  a 
school-girl  she  kwked,  with  the  alert  gravity,  t»  ;  aloof- 
ness of  some  sylvan  creature  used  to  sol'tude  ift  her  big 
hazel  eyes.  The  long,  delicate  oval  of  her  face  glowed 
with  her  recent  exercise  in  the  sharp  air,  though  hers  was 
a  skin  ordinarily  pale  as  the  wood-flower.  She  stretched 
out  her  moccasined  feet  toward  the  stove,  with  a  little 
contented  sigh. 

"I  knew  you'd  come  to-day,"  Mrs.  LeRoy  repeated, 
still  standing  and  gazing  benevolently  down  on  her.  "The 
squirTs  been  on  the  lookout  for  you." 

Virginia  laughed  in  the  subdued  fashion  of  one  who 
does  not  laugh  very  often. 

"Those  wise  animals  of  yours  will  get  you  burned  for 
a  witch  some  day." 

The  shadow  of  an  unpleasant  recollection  darkened  the 
other's  face. 

"Didn't  you  know  as  they  call  me  a  witch  now?"  she 
asked  gravely. 

"Do  they?  What  a  shame t  But  it's  only  some  of 
those  ignorant  half-breeds  down  at  the  Point,  isn't  it?" 

Her  words  mollified  Mrs.  LeRoy,  whose  big  frame 
shook  «vith  a  reminiscent  chuckle.  "Look  I"  she  said. 
"When  that  Casper  Perrin's  great  fool  of  a  girl  was 
screaming  in  saterics  last  week,  what  does  he  do  but  come 
and  ask  me  to  boil  a  dogwood  cross  and  give  her  the 
water  to  drink,  after  sayin'  what  he  calls  'sors'  over  it, 
to  free  her  from  the  spell  as  was  cast  on  her." 

For  all  her  air  of  anxious  preoccupation,  Virginia  lis- 
tened with  relish  to  the  story. 
"And  what  did  you  tell  him?" 
Again  the  silent  chuckle. 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


"I  told  him  all  the  needed  wm  good  food,  an'  if  he 
wam't  too  laxy  to  feed  hit  own  children,  he'd  go  an' 
trap  a  rabbit  or  two  to  make  her  some  good  loup.  If 
that  weren't  no  use,  I'd  try  a  sound  whipping." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  LeRoyI    That  big  girl  I" 

"For  sure!  It's  a  certain  cure  for  saterics."  Then, 
with  an  abrupt  dr(^ing  of  the  subject:  "Well,  what's 
the  news?" 

They  had  come  to  reality  now,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
older  woman  met  the  girl's  with  a  hungry  craving  almost 
animal  in  its  intensity,  a  craving  that  found  small  com- 
fort in  the  lattir's  sad  gaze. 

•'Nothing.  Haven't  you  any,  yet  ?"  Virginia  asked  with 
a  lingering  hope. 

"What  news  should  I  have?"  came  the  abrupt  i«tort, 
as  Mrs.  LeRoy  turned  away  to  the  stove,  and  began  to 
stir  the  kettle  vigorously.  "You  don't  mind  the  smell,  do 
you?  I'm  boilm'  down  some  balsam-fir  bark  to  make  a 
salve  for  John  Duncan,  as  has  a  sore  on  his  leg  that 
don't  heal.  He's  been  home  from  the  lumber-camp  goin' 
on  two  months,  an' " 

Here  Virginia  interrupted;  "Mrs.  LeRoy,  how  kmg 
is  it  since  you've  had  any  news  of  Jack?" 

The  words  acted  like  a  spell,  and  the  other  turned  to 
confront  her,  in  an  outburst  of  frank  despair. 

"How  long?  Months  an'  months,  God  knows!  But 
what  of  that  ?"  with  a  poor  effort  at  cheerfulness.  'They 
don't  have  post-offices  an'  such  like  thing  away  up  there 
in  God's  North.  There's  only  lakes  an  rocks,  an'  mis- 
eries of  trees  there  for  miles  an'  miles  of  frozen-up  coun- 
try.   Why,  ain't  I  see'd  them  in  my  sleep?" 

The  woman  stood  motionless,  her  strong  arms  fallen 
to  her  sides,  head  thrown  slightly  back,  and  eyes  fixed 
in  a  steady  stare  from  the  window,  out  toward  the  dark 
6 


SUSPENSE 


to 


fin  edging  the  btuiah-white  shadowed  road.  Her  voke 
had  taken  on  a  monotonous  sound,  at  though  she  spoke 
more  to  herself  than  to  a  listener.  Virginia  somehow 
knew  that  she  was  scarcely  conscious  of  her  presence, 
but,  awed  as  she  was,  her  keen  desire  for  knowledge 
drove  her  on  to  ask  in  a  hushed  voice : 

"And  did  you  see  Jack  there?" 

The  answer  came  prompt  and  certain,  as  a  medium 
might  respond  in  a  trance. 

"Yes,  I  see'd  him.  Trampin',  thin  an'  foot-sore,  an' 
hungry— oh,  I  feel  his  hunger  gnawing  me  at  nights,  like 
»s  it  was  my  ownl  But  for  all  that,  he's  ativ*.  Oh, 
Jack's  alive,  sure  enough." 

Her  voice  died  away  into  a  silence  broken  only  by  the 
mingled  song  of  kettle  and  wood  fire.  Gradually,  the 
rigidity  seemed  to  pass  from  the  still  figure,  and  as  ••» 
moan  of  rising  wind  sounded  around  the  house,  Mrs. 
LeRoy  gave  herself  a  little  shake  and  spoke  in  her  usua.' 
voice: 

"There's  the  wind  gettin'  up,  an*  Lord  knows,  it's  told 
enough  without  that.  I'll  het  you  up  a  cup  of  milk,  an' 
you'll  eat  a  doughnut,  an'  then  be  on  your  way  home 
afore  the  sun  gets  lower.  Didn't  Miss  Creighton  mind 
your  coming  by  yourself?" 

Disappointed  at  this  return  to  the  day's  minutiae,  Vir- 
ginia still  felt  it  prudent  to  acquiesce  in  it,  answering : 

"She  never  quite  likes  me  to  cross  the  Basin  alone. 
She  has  so  often  heard  the  old  doctor's  stories  about  the 
ice  being  carried  out  by  the  tide  while  people  were  still 
on  it." 

"They're  true  enough.  I  could  tell  you  stories  of  things 
Tve  seen  myself.  Though  Pierre  DuOiene,  as  crossed 
from  Grand  Greve  yesterday  to  fetch  some  of  my  Injun 
cucumber-root  stuff  for  his  wife,  as  seems  ailin'  in  her 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


chest,  though  he  was  sayin'  as  you  can't  see  a  glint  of 
open  water  from  the  lighthouse  on  Cape  Gaspe,  yet  still, 
the  old  doctor's  right.  There's  always  a  risk,  an'  you 
shouldn't  cross  alone.  Why  didn't  you  bring  the  Sabine 
girir 

Virginia  was  used  to  Mrs.  LeRoy's  conversational 
curves,  and  skipped  her  divergences. 

"Esther?  But  you  see  I  wanted  to  come  by  myself,  to 
talk  to  you — to  ask  you — Oh,  Mrs.  LeRoy,"  with  a  sud- 
den irrepressible  recurrence  to  her  old  fear,  "you're  sure, 
quite  sure,  jack's  alive?" 

As  a  night  panic,  spreads  in  an  army,  the  answering  ter- 
ror leaped  in  the  mother's  eyes  to  meet  hers.  A  livid 
gray  dulled  her  sallow  sldn. 

"What  else  should  he  be?"  came  the  fierce  question. 
Then  with  a  new  suspicion  weakening  her  voice:  "It 
can't  be  as  Mr.  Dorval  has  heard  something  up  there  in 
Quebec,  an'  has  written  for  you  to  come  an'  what  they 
call  break  the  news  to  me?    For  sure,  it  can't  be  that?" 

Virginia  had  paled,  responsive  to  her  agony. 

"No,  oh,  no  I  How  could  you  think  anything  so  dread- 
ful?" she  protested.  "I  thought  it  was  so  nice  to  feel 
he  was  in  Quebec,  and  would  do  his  best  to  get  us  any 
news  there  was.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  was  what  he 
went  for." 

"Dessay,"  Mrs.  LeRoy  agreed,  her  outer  robe  of  sto- 
icism readjusted.  "I've  known  him  more'n  twenty  years, 
good  and  bad,  and,  though  he  ain't  one  to  talk  or  make 
a  fuss,  I  never  knew  him  miss  a  chance  of  lendin'  a  neigh- 
bor a  helpin'  hand.  But,"  the  cloud  shadowing  her  again, 
"he  ain't  God  Almighty  to  see  over  woods  an'  lakes,  an' 
barrens — No,  if  there  is  bad  news  to  come,  I'll  know  it 
afore  he  does.  I  wasn't  born  of  Highland  folk  for  ROth- 
ing.  We  see  ahead  in  our  family." 
8 


SUSPENSE 


I 


She  paused,  staring  into  the  bubbling  pot  as  though  it 
held  futurity's  secrets.    Then,  with  an  eflfort,  she  said : 

"Well,  it  always  seems  the  longest  an'  the  dreariest 
part  of  the  winter  when  Mr.  Dorval  goes  off,  an'  now,  I 
s'pose  he  won't  be  back  afore  the  Gulf  opens.  Lord 
knows,  why  should  he,  when  he  doesn't  have  to,  an'  he 
with  more  money  comin'  to  him  from  that  uncle  in  Europe 
than  he  can  spend  just  on  his  lone  self,  if  he  tries  from 
now  to  Christmas." 

"But  he's  coming  back  this  time,"  Virginia  said  eagerly, 
as  though  this  return  must  be  a  good  thing  for  them 
both.  "He  told  me  he'd  bring  me  anything  from  Mon- 
treal that  didn't  weigh  more  than  five  pounds." 

"Well,  if  he's  comin',  he'd  better  look  sharp  to  come 
afore  the  first  thaw.  It  wasn't  more'n  a  week  later  than 
this  last  year  that  the  mail  didn't  get  through  for  a  fort- 
night." 

Virginia  gave  a  little  shudder  to  such  a  prospect  of 
isolation,  then  said  hopefully : 
"Thank  goodness,  there's  always  the  telegraph." 
"The  telegraph  ain't  for  poor  folks."    Then,  dismissing 
the  subject,  while  her  voice  softened  to  solicitude : 

"Drink  this  hot  milk  now,  an'  then  start  off  home  afore 
the  sun  gets  lower.  See,  the  mountain's  shadow  reaches 
near  across  the  Basin,  an'  it  will  be  cold  enough  down 
there  in  the  shade." 

Virginia  knew  the  might  of  winter's  hand  well  enough 
to  obey  promptly,  and  not  many  minutes  passed  before 
her  snow-shoes  were  strapped  on  and  she  and  Czar  were 
speeding  down  the  white  slope  to  the  Basin.  The  dog's 
breath  rose  in  a  thick  steam,  and  she  felt  the  frost  sting- 
ing her  eyelids  and  nostrils,  but,  for  all  the  cold,  it  was  a 
worid  of  glowing  color,  of  tropical  radiance  that  sur- 
rounded her.    The  western  sky  above  the  mountain  pul- 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


sated  with  deep  rose  and  vivid  sea-green  tints  only  visible 
at  such  seasons,  while  every  shadow  on  the  snow 
stretched  a  royal  violet  against  its  flame-colored  contrast. 
The  North  wore  the  saffron  bridal  robe  of  her  marriage 
to  Winter,  and  sky  and  frozen  sea  shared  her  glory. 
Even  the  dark  woods  took  a  russet  warmth  on  their  som- 
ber greenery. 

Mrs.  LeRoy  sat  at  her  wind"./,  with  unwontedly  idle 
hands,  watching  the  figures  of  dog  and  girt  as  they 
emerged  from  the  trees  on  to  the  frozen  plam,  distinct 
against  that  open  space,  first  in  the  rosy  glow,  then  m 
the  violet  shadow  of  the  hill  that  rose  behmd  Lanse 

"The  shadow's  took  them,"  she  murmured  dreamily, 
her  eyes  following  them  until  they  reached  the  Point, 
the  business  center  of  Lanse  Louise.  Here,  below  the 
bluff,  stood  the  wharves  and  white  fish-stores  of  the  Dor- 
val  Company,  the  Jersey  house  that  for  over  a  hundred 
years  has  held  under  its  sway  the  lower  Gulf,  from  Gaspc 
and  the  New  Brunswick  shore  settlements  to  far-off 
Cheticamp,  near  the  north  of  Cape  Breton. 

She  caught  a  last  glimpse  of  the  scarlet  wmg  in  Vl^ 
ginia's  cap  as  she  climbed  the  slanting  road  up  the  Bluff 
to  the  main  street,  if  street  it  could  be  called,  then  with 
a  murmured  "Poor  child!"  turned  away  to  take  her  ket- 
tle off  the  fire  and  set  aside  the  contents  that  were  to 
benefit  John  Duncan's  leg. 


CHAPTER  II 


SABINE'S  HOTEL 

B_'  THE  time  Virginia  reached  the  level  of  the 
road,  the  glory  of  rose  and  purple  was  paling 
to  lemon  lights  and  pale  blue  shadows.  A 
young  moon  held  her  own  in  the  western  sky 
against  the  dusk  creeping  up  from  the  outer  Gulf  spaces 
of  the  blue-gray  east. 

Here  and  there  in  the  cottages  that  peered  out  be- 
tween their  shoveled  snowbanks,  like  children  peeping 
from  their  bedclothes,  shone  an  orange  light.  There  was 
no  more  sound  of  diildren's  voices  in  the  air.  They 
were  all  indoors,  safe  from  the  cold  of  the  coming  night. 
Only  an  occasional  chime  of  sleigh-bells  or  the  creak  on 
the  hard  snow  of  a  belated  lumber  team  broke  the  frosty 
stilhiess. 

Presently  Virginia  paused  before  a  house,  larger  than 
the  others,  standing  right  on  the  road  instead  of  back  in 
the  garden.  Built,  like  the  rest,  on  the  usual  Quebec  pat- 
tern of  overhanging  gable  roof,  long  French  windows  and 
wide  veranda,  it  had,  even  in  this  winter  time,  an  air  of 
teim  alertness,  set  with  a  background  of  large  gray  bams 
and  twisted  old  willows.  Across  the  road  the  bank  sloped 
steeply,  only  leaving  room  for  a  line  of  stately  firs,  be- 
tween whose  dark  stems  the  distant  hills  showed  spectral 
in  the  gathering  twilight.  This  house  was  the  well- 
known  hotel  that  made  Lanse  Louise  such  a  favorite 
haunt  for  sportsmen,  such  a  desired  haven  for  commercial 
II 


IS     M 


III 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

travellers  in  their  long  winter  drives.  On  the  veranda 
steps  stood  a  woman  wrapped  in  high-collared  raccoon 
coat  and  cap.  Though  the  furs  left  barely  an  inch  be- 
tween cap  and  collar,  Virginia  seemed  in  no  doubt  as  to 
her  identity. 

"Esther!"  she  called  lightly,  and  the  mere  word  spoke 
of  affectionate  familiarity. 

"Why,  wherever  have  you  been  all  by  yourself?"  was 
the  response,  as  the  other  came  down  the  steps  to  meet 
her. 

Every  one  about  Lanse  Louise,  and  far  along  the  shore 
to  Dalhousie  on  the  Bale  de  Chaleur,  knew  Esther  Sabine, 
whose  mother  had,  for  seventeen  years,  kept  the  hotel  in 
so  capable  a  fashion.  There  was  also  a  Mr.  Sabine,  but 
being  of  a  nervously  retiring  disposition  and  invalidish 
habits — indeed,  it  was  said  to  be  on  account  of  an  early 
breakdown  in  his  health  that  the  family  had  come  to  live 
in  this  secluded  place — ^he  did  not  count  for  much  save  to 
his  daughter.  From  her  childhood  the  two  had  been 
companions,  the  girl  early  assuming  an  oddly  protective 
attitude  toward  her  father.  Essentially  active  in  her 
habits,  and  taking  her  full  share  of  he-  mother's  house- 
keeping cares,  she  always  found  time  to  interest  herself 
in  Mr.  Sabine's  gardening,  to  help  him  pot  and  transplant 
his  treasures,  to  discuss  the  theories  he  loved  to  propound 
on  the  world's  events  as  seen  through  the  daily  papers, 
to  foil  w  the  fussy  course  of  an  idle  man's  day. 

Esther  and  Virginia  had  been  playmates  for  nearly  as 
long  as  they  could  remember,  in  spite  of  many  differ- 
ences in  their  circumstances.  As  each  grew  into  girl- 
hood, they  could  not  but  be  aware  of  the  contrast  be- 
tween their  lives. 

Though  Virginia  Holbeach  lived  at  the  Bluff  House  in 
so  secluded  a  fashion  with  her  governess,  Miss  Creighton, 


SABINE'S   HOTEL 


yet  her  surroundings  were  of  a  daintiness  befitting  those 
of  a  rich  man's  only  child,  and  when,  in  the  fishing  sea- 
son, her  father  came  from  England,  the  household  habits 
became  less  simple. 

For  her  friend  there  was  no  such  guarded,  hothouse 
atmosphere.  Before  Esther's  skirts  were  long  or  her 
hair  done  up,  she  had  taken  her  place  in  the  routine  of  the 
busy  little  hotel,  and  now,  in  her  twency-third  year,  the 
cheerful  house  atmosphere  was  largely  of  her  creating. 
She  had  also  learnt  a  more  difficult  lesson  than  that  of 
work,  the  lesson  of  doing  without. 

It  was  Mrs.  Sabine  who  held  the  family  purse-strings, 
and  though  she  never  stinted  in  household  matters,  in  all 
their  personal  expenditure  she  exercised  an  almost  aus- 
tere economy.  With  summer  boarders,  with  sportsmen, 
and  all  the  local  travel,  the  hotel  was  prosperous,  and  as 
she  grrew  old  enough  to  know  how  steadily  the  money 
came  in,  Esther  sometimes  wondered  where  it  all  went  to. 
Surely,  Mrs.  Sabine  could  not  be  making  a  private 
hoard  while  she  denied  her  husband  the  new  book  on  gar- 
dening, the  experimental  plants  he  craved  for,  the  small 
luxuries  that  mean  so  much  to  an  invalid.  She  honestly 
tried  not  to  judge  her  mother,  though  she  could  not  but 
feel  that  a  little  of  their  earnings  spent  here  and  there 
as  they  went  along  might  have  made  life  mo'e  cheerful 
for  them  all.  Meanwhile,  she  never  grudged  Virginia 
the  pretty  clothes  and  trinkets  that  came  to  her  so  lav- 
ishly, the  winter  travel  in  southern  lands,  realizing,  per- 
haps, how  little  she  would  have  cared  to  have  changed 
places  with  her,  how  much  bettt  her  own  more  strenu- 
ous path  suited  her  nature,  than  the  other's  hot-house 
atmosphere. 
"I  just  went  over  to  Mrs.  LeRoy's  I" 
Virginia's  answer  had  in  it  a  fine  assumption  of  care- 

13 


I  »! 


liii  ;^i 
1' 


MARCUS    HOLBEACHS    DAUGHTER 

lessness,  and  she  stooped  to  brush  away,  with  her  mil- 
tened  hand,  some  of  the  clogged  snow  around  her  ankles. 

"Why  on  earth  didn't  you  get  me  to  go  with  yc"?" 
'  said  Esther  in  frank  surprise.  Then,  with  a  little  laugh : 
"I  believe  you  wanted  the  witch  to  tell  your  fortune." 

"How  can  you  say  anything  so  unkind !"  her  friend  re- 
torted in  swift  wrath. 

"Why,  surely  you  know  I  was  only  in  fun!"  Esther 
protested,  amazed  at  such  unwonted  touchiness. 

A  jingle  of  bells  came  swiftly  up  the  road,  and  both 
girls  turned  their  heads  to  listen.  There  were  not  many 
such  silver  peals  td  be  heard  in  Lanse  Louise,  and  to 
both  the  sound  seemed  familiar. 

"There's  a  pair,"  said  Virginia,  a  tremor  of  expectation 
in  her  voice. 

"Why,  it's  Mr.  Dorval!"  said  Esther,  as  the  two 
sturdy  black  horses  came  on  at  such  a  steady  trot  that 
soon  they  saw  the  low  sleigh  with  its  gray- wolf  robes, 
saw  the  driver,  well  muffled  in  astrachan  coat  and  cap. 

He  evidently  saw  them,  too,  for,  checking  his  horses, 
he  jumped  out,  handing  the  reins  to  the  man  beside  him. 

"Take  them  home,  David,  and  don't  let  them  get 
chilled,"  he  said.  Then,  greeting  the  girls  in  a  pleasant-y 
modulated  voice  with  a  slight  Jersey  accent : 

"Well,  this  is  an  unexpected  welcome  home  for  such  a 
cold  night!  If  we  had  wireless  telegraphy,  I'd  suppose 
you  were  waiting  for  me !" 

"Perhaps  we  scented  yoar  coming  like  the  dogs  dot 
Inferior  animals,  you  know,"  Virginia  retorted  gayly,  a 
riei.dly  grasp  on  his  arm. 

"Well,  let's  get  indoors.  I've  had  enough  fresh  air  be- 
tween here  and  Dalhousie.  Take  off  your  shoes,  Vir- 
ginia, and  we'll  run  in  for  a  minute." 

Esther  led  the  way  into  the  house,  the  open  door  tend- 

14 


SABINE'S  HOTEL 


ing  out  a  greeting  rush  of  heat  and  light.  Dorval  loos- 
ened his  coat,  and  took  off  his  cap,  showing  a  black,  gray- 
streaked  head,  a  lean,  sallow  face  of  the  stag-hound  type, 
nose  long  but  well  shaped,  level  black  eyebrows  over  deep- 
set  gray  eyes,  eyes  full  of  grave  kindliness.  Although 
his  forty  years  sat  lightly  on  him,  there  were  lines  around 
his  mouth  that  told  of  youthful  hardships  firmly  endured. 
It  was  evident  that,  for  all  those  forty  years  of  his,  the 
two  girls  and  he  were  good  friends — even  more,  were 
comrades. 

The  two  followed  Esther  through  a  small  room,  half 
o£Sce,  half  smoking-room,  into  the  family  parlor,  a  room 
that  by  daylight  might  seem  austere  in  the  neatness  of  its 
shabby  simplicity,  but  that  now,  on  this  bitter  winter 
night,  glowed  with  the  fireside  cheer  of  lamp  and  stove, 
a  cheer  enhanced  by  the  contrast  of  undrawn  blinds  af- 
fording a  wide  outlook  into  the  mystical  northern  twi- 
light. The  two  windows  at  the  end  of  the  room  com- 
manded, through  a  tracery  of  bare  willow  branches,  a 
sweep  of  lemon  sky  fading  into  violet,  a  sky  that  spanned 
the  deep  maroon-purple  of  the  distant  Shigshook  hills, 
hills  where  the  world-old  forest  still  shelters  its  wild 
creatures  in  spite  of  the  fringe  of  lumber  camps  that 
gnaw  its  edges  as  mice  gnaw  a  cheese.  A  big  old  sofa  and 
*fio  well-worn  armchairs  supplied  a  certain  amount  of 
comfort.  There  were  none  of  the  useless  little  ornaments 
so  dear  to  the  feminine  heart,  none  of  those  pictures  of 
old  age  or  childhood,  linking  the  family  life  with  its  past, 
on  the  walls ;  but  a  well-filled,  if  small,  bookcase,  a  stand 
of  ik>urishing  ferns  and  geraniums,  with  work-baskets 
and  newspapers  on  the  center-table,  told  of  a  comfortable 
home  life.  In  one  of  the  armchairs,  shoved  close  to  the 
open  French  stove  where  crackled  a  noble  log  fire,  sat 
Mr.  Sabine.    So  thin  and  frail  and  bleached  he  looked 


15 


w 
i 


|i     !' 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

with  his  ivory  skin  and  fine  hair,  once  blond,  new  whiten- 
ing, that  one  might  almost  have  expected  the  rosy  light 
to  shine  through  him  without  any  obstacle,  while  his  once 
tall  frame  was  bent  as  though  under  the  weight  of  years. 
There  was  a  startled  nervousness  in  the  bright  blue  eyes 
he  turned  toward  the  opening  door,  but  at  sight  of  his 
daughter  a  fresh  life  seemed  to  wake  iti  them. 

"Ah,  Esther  1"  he  murmured  in  the  satisfied  voice  of 
a  child  who  sees  its  mother  come. 

Further  from  the  fire,  between  the  windows  with  their 
sweeping  outlook  and  the  table  with  the  lamp,  sat  the 
house-mistress,  Mrs.  Sabine,  bending  intently  over  her 
task  of  fine  darning, of  table  linen,  a  work  which  with  her 
seemed  to  take  the  place  of  other  women's  embroidery. 
Esther  used  sc«netimes  to  wonder,  when  her  mother  came 
to  Lanse  Louise  seventeen  years  ago,  and  the  house  linen 
was  perhaps  new,  what  occupation  she  had  found  for  .le 
time  she  was  not  going  about  active  housework.  Those 
seventeen  years  had  left  few  traces  on  the  thick  masses 
of  ruddy  brown  hair,  on  the  somewhat  massively  mod- 
eled face,  though  all  that  had  made  youth,  the  hope,  the 
frankness,  the  fire,  was  forever  gone  from  the  deep-set 
gray  eyes  and  from  the  mouth  whose  curves,  in  their 
<ixed  gravity,  seemed  to  have  lost  the  trick  of  smiling. 
.  ome  one  day  in  this  woman's  past  there  must  have  been 
such  a  supreme  effort  of  self-control  that  her  nature  had 
been  hopelessly  driven  in  on  itself,  or  else,  perhaps,  the 
self-control  had  been  the  effort  of  years  and  so  had  grown 
into  a  mask,  hiding  all  that  had  once  been  sweetness  and 
even  brilliancy.  Shadowed  as  she  was,  as  even  a  stranger 
might  feel  her  to  be,  there  was  yet  the  impalpable  but 
very  real  impress  that  soul  rnakes  on  body,  of  a  true, 
brave  nature  that,  through  whatever  deep  waters,  had 
kept  its  innate  honesty,  its  inclination  toward  good  rather 
i6 


I 


SABINE'S  HOTEL 


than  evil.    Above  all,  there  were  no  disfiguring  lines  of 
peevish  discontent  to  mar  the  gravity  of  her  face. 

The  absolute  simplicity  of  her  gray  dress  had  some- 
thing cloistral  in  its  outlines,  though  even  into  its  sim- 
plicity there  crept  a  touch  of  distinction,  as  though  this 
woman  had  once  walked  through  Vanity  Fair  with  the 
bravest. 

Mrs.  Sabine  had  evidently  a  keen  ear,  for,  as  Esther 
came  into  the  room,  her  expectant  gaze  passed  her  and 
rested  on  Dorval,  as  though  she  had  recognized  his  voice 
and  step.  As  she  saw  him  coming  bareheaded  toward 
her,  her  eyes  softened  and  her  lips  parted  into  a  flicker- 
ing smile  that  was  a  revelation  of  former  charms,  like  a 
late  ray  of  sunshine  over  a  desolate  country. 

Girls  in  their  first  twenties  are  not  apt  to  mark  signs 
of  feeling  in  middle-aged  faces,  but  those  bright  blue 
eyes  of  Mr.  Sabine's  went  restlessly  from  one  face  to  an- 
other, taking  in  the  full  significance  of  the  meeting 
glances,  welcome  and  response. 

With  trim  precision,  Mr.  Sabine  laid  aside  the  flcwer- 
■eed  catalogue  he  had  been  marking  with  a  pencil,  while 
his  wife's  hands  dropped  on  the  heap  of  white  linen  on 
her  lap. 

"Mr.  Dorval !"  she  said  in  a  voice  that,  for  all  its  gen- 
tleness, had  somehow  a  dead  tone  in  it.  "Why,  wherever 
did  the  girls  find  you  ?  We  did  not  expect  you  bick  until 
— oh,  the  spring." 

She  spoke  the  last  word  with  the  wistfulness  of  those 
to  whom  the  six  winter  months  have  become  such  a 
habit  that  they  almost  doubt  their  evei  ending,  almost 
despair  of  a  sight  of  the  blessed  brown  earth  and 
tawny  withered  grass,  hidden  so  long  under  the 
snowbanks. 

"Why,  I  told  you  that  I  shouldn't  be  away  long  this 
17 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHIEU 


time,"  he  answered  as  directly  to  her  as  though  she  were 
alone  in  the  room,  coming  forward  to  take  her  hand  with 
a  touch  of  deference  suggesting  some  far-back  courtly 
French  ancestor.  Somehow,  those  meeting  hands,  both 
thin  and  long  with  tapering  fingers,  both  bearing  signs  of 
accomplished  tasks,  seemed  to  belong  to  the  same  type, 
a  type  of  latent  strength  and  developed  skill. 

"Then  it  was  your  bells  I  heard  stop  at  the  door? 
Surely,  you  haven't  just  driven  through  from  Dal- 
housie  ?"  she  asked. 

"Indeed  I  have,  and  enjoyed  every  mile  of  the  hundred. 
I  only  wanted  an  Englishman  with  me  to  show  him  what 
our  roads  and  weather  can  be.  I  was  just  one  night  on 
the  road,  which  is  good  traveling.  And  I  found  these 
girls  gossiping  on  the  doorstep  as  though  it  were  a  June 
evening." 

Mrs.  Sabine  looked  her  greeting  to  Virginia,  who  pro- 
tested lightly : 

"Why,  I  only  came  across  from  the  Point  as  you  drove 
up.    And,  anyway,  I'm  never  cold  snow-shoeing." 

"The  glass  is  ten  below  zero  now,  and  goodness  knows 
what  it  may  be  before  morning,"  came  in  a  mournful 
protest  from  Mr.  Sabine,  as  he  shivered  in  the  breath  of 
cold  air  they  had  brought  in  with  them. 

"And  how  is  the  bronchitis?"  Dorval  asked  kindly. 

"Bronchial  cold,  not  bronchitis,"  Mr.  Sabine  corrected. 
"It's  much  better,  thank  you." 

"You  had  better  take  off  your  furs,  Virginia,"  Mrs. 
Sabine  said. 

For  all  the  quietness  of  the  words,  they  held  an  im- 
pression that  her  husband's  bronchial  cold  was  not  a  de- 
sired topic  of  conversation. 

Esther,  who  had  thrown  down  cap  and  coat,  crossed 
over  to  the  fire  and  laid  a  friendly  hand  on  her  father's 
i8 


SABINE'S   HOTEL 


I 


•houtder.  A  pleasant  home  figure  she  looked  in  her  trim 
blue  flannel  blouse  and  short  dark  skirt,  her  thick  chest- 
nut hair  drawn  back  from  the  square  forehead,  beneath 
which  the  brown  eyes  looked  out  frankly.  Virginia  had 
flung  her  coat  open,  but  made  no  movement  to  take  it 
oflF,  as  she  stood  there,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Dorval.  The 
curious  sense  of  expectancy  which  held  them  seemed  to 
be  intensified  in  her. 

"Thanks,  but  I  must  get  home  or  Miss  Creighton  will 
be  nervous.  I  only  came  in  to  hear  Mr.  Dorval's  news." 
She  hesitated,  and  Esther  put  in : 

"Which  he  hasn't  told  us.  You  didn't  happen  to  hear 
anything  of  Jack  LeRoy's  expedition,  Mr.  Dorval?" 

The  name  seemed  to  break  the  spell  that  bound  them. 
As  she  heard  it,  Mrs.  Sabine's  gaze  turned  inquiringly  on 
her  daughter,  who  somehow  seemed  conscious  of  the 
scrutiny,  though  her  face,  tingling  from  the  frost,  showed 
no  change  of  color. 

Dorval,  too,  glanced  quickly  from  one  girl  to  the  other, 
before  he  answered  in  the  reluctant  fashion  in  which  bad 
news  is  given : 

"I'm  sorry  to  say,  I  did.  I  spent  Sunday  in  Quebec, 
and  there  I  heard  what  you'll  see  in  Monday's  Montreal 
papers.  The  Buflfalo  Company  that  they  were  working 
for  has  failed,  and  the  provisions  promised  for  the  early 
winter  were  not  forwarded  soon  enough  to  reach  them. 
There  would  be  nothing  for  it  but  to  make  for  home, 
though,  if  a  thaw  comes  early,  they  may  have  hard  work 
shoving  through  in  time." 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  silence.    Then : 

"Oh,  what  a  shame,  what  a  shame,"  Esther  cried  hotly, 
"and  is  there  nobody  to  help  them  then?" 
^  Eyes,  voice,  ha:  Js  were  a-thrill  with  honest  indigna- 
tio«.  From  Virginia  came  no  sound,  but,  for  all  the  warm 

»9 


It 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

light,  her  face  showed  wan,  and  the  eye«  hxed  on  Dorval 
Mcined  to  grow  darker,  larger. 

"I  did  what  I  could,"  Dorval  answered  to  the  unspoken 
reproach.  "I  had  a  talk  with  the  Tathems  and  «ome 
other  lumber  people,  and  if  the  frost  doesn't  break  earlier 
than  usual,  we  shall  manage  to  get  some  men  through  to 
meet  them.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  feeling  about  it  in 
Quebec,  and  the  Hovernment  may  do  something.  There 
■re  several  loc.il  men  on  the  expedition." 

Each  of  the  three  women  listening  to  him  knew  that 
he  was  the  originator  and  prime  mover  in  any  attempt  at 
rescue  that  might  ,be  made,  but  only  Esther  voiced  the 
knowledge  in  the  grateful  words: 

"Then,  that's  what  you  went  to  Quebec  for !" 
^^  "That,  and  other  things  I"  was  the  placid   response. 
"But  I  must  be  getting  home     Mrs.  LePine  will  have  my 
dinner  waiting."     He  looked  suggestively  at  Virginia. 
who  caught  her  breath  with  the  little  shiver  of  one  com- 
ing back  to  actual  life  from  somber  visions. 
"So  must  I,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
After  subdued  good-nights  the  two  went  together  from 
the  warm  brightness  out  into  the  shining  splendor  of  the 
winter  night.    The  moon  had  it  all  her  o  .  i  way  now  in 
the  west  and  drew  a  blue-black  tracery  of  fir  branches 
over  the  ivory  snowbanks.    Every  cottage  light  shone  an 
orange  stab  on  the  pallid  radiance. 

Virginia  sped  swiftly  down  the  veranda  steps,  and  then 
knelt  on  one  knee  to  fasten  her  snowshoes. 

"You  don't  need  those  for  the  road.  It  must  be  hard 
as  marble,"  Dorval  remonstrated.  "I'd  drive  you  home, 
only  the  horses  will  be  bedded  down  by  now." 

"I'd  rather  walk,"  she  said  briefly,  standing  her  full 
height,  and  giving  first  one  foot,  then  the  other,  a  little 
shake  to  adjust  them  to  their  moosehide  trappings. 
20 


SABINE'S   HOTEL 


I 


"Where  are  you  going?"  Dorval  asked  sharply,  as  she 
turned  to  cross  the  street  to  the  road  that  zigzagged 
down  the  face  of  the  Bluff  to  the  Point. 

She  looked  back  at  him  as  though  she  had  forgotten  his 
presence,  and  in  that  white  light  her  face  showed  spectral. 

"I'm  going  to  Mrs.  LeRoy.  She  mustn't  read  it  in  the 
paper  or  have  any  of  those  common  people  rushing  in  to 
tell  her." 

He  checked  her  with  an  authoritative  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Virginia,  I  couldn't  let  you  cross  the  ice  alone  at  this 
time  of  night.  I'm  going  over  there  myself  as  soon  as 
I've  had  something  to  eat." 

"But  you're  tired.  And  then"— there  was  a  break  in 
her  voice— "I  think  I'd  be  a  comfort  to  her." 

"I  -lare  say  you  would,"  Dorval  agreed  soothingly. 
"But— see  here,  Virginia— you  can  surely  trust  me  to  do 
my  best.  We're  old  friends,  she  and  I.  I  was  with  her 
when  her  husband  died."  With  a  sudden  ei.ort  at  a  more 
cheerful  tone,  he  added : 

"Besides,  your  going  alone  at  this  time  of  night  would 
alarm  her,  and  we  mustn't  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to 
make  a  tragedy  of  this.  Jack  will  get  through  all  right 
yet." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  agreed  with  a  little  gasp,  as,  abandon- 
ing her  purpose,  she  turned  her  face  homeward. 

They  walked  in  silence,  and  presently,  when  they 
parted,  Dorval  paused  at  his  own  gate  to  watch  her  soli- 
tary figure  in  the  shining  dusk  of  the  road. 

"Poor  child,  so  that's  the  way  the  wind  blows!  And 
she  has  only  that  little  dictionary  of  a  woman  to  go  back 
to  I  Holbeach  had  better  come  out  this  spring  and  look 
after  her,  or  she'll  be  taking  matters  into  her  own  hands 
and  giving  him  a  surprise !" 


CHAPTER  III 


LADY  WARRENDEN'S  VILLA 


■I 


I!    I 


THE  Cannes  season  was  nearing  its  end,  and 
every  day  the  rapide  bore  away  groups,  in- 
different to  the  spring-tide  glory  they  left  be- 
hind,, only  intent,  like  children,  on  the  next 
new  toy  or  amusement. 

Lady  Warrenden's  white  Moorish  villa,  sparkling  like 
a  bride-cake  among  its  green  shrubbery  of  eucalyptus  and 
bamboo,  still  shone-  in  undiminished  cheerfulness.  Lace 
curtains  fluttered  at  open  doors  and  windows,  gay  awn- 
ings shielded  the  balconies,  and  out  on  her  favorite  ter- 
race, facing  the  Esterel  peaks  and  the  sunset,  were 
grouped  all  sorts  of  fantastically  comfortable  wicker 
chairs  and  convenient  little  tables.  A  soul-satisfying 
place  this  terrace  on  crisp  winter  mornings  when  the  dis- 
tant Alpes  Maritimes  glistened  in  fresh  snow,  and  per- 
haps even  the  Esterel  peaks  were  outlined  in  white;  in 
the  glare  of  hot  noontides  when  the  sea  below  stretched 
a  silky  blue  plain  while  the  mountains  swam  in  a  faint 
haze,  and  the  sharp  tracery  of  the  pepper  trees  was  out- 
lined on  the  marble  pavement,  fairest  of  all  perhaps  at 
this  pre-sunset  hour  of  the  spring  afternoon  with  the  sea 
deepening  to  violet  and  the  western  sky  yellowing  behind 
jagged  peaks  of  royal  purple. 

Familiar  as  she  was  with  this  daily  panorama,  it  yet 
added  to  Lady  Warrenden's  sense  of  well-being  as  she 
sipped  her  tea  with  the  relish  of  one  fresh  from  motoring 
22 


LADY  WARRKNDEN'S  VILLA 


on  a  dusty  road.  A  f  reat  ban"-;  ol  iiink  roses  formed  a 
background  to  the  w!  ito  Jad  figu;e  whose  curves  were 
ampler  than  they  had  >:&•■•  tf  r  ye.irs  ago.  The  first  fine 
delicacy  of  her  modeled  features  was  slightly  blurred  in 
outline  by  luxurious  and  strenuous  living,  and  by  the 
cosmetics  that  made  her  face  a  true  work  of  art,  fitter 
in  its  crudeness  for  the  footlights  than  for  the  soft  south- 
em  twilight,  while  the  glory  of  ruddy  hair,  crowned  with 
a  wondrous  pale  green  hat,  now  owed  more  of  its  bril- 
liancy to  Bond  Street  than  to  nature. 

For  all  that,  there  was  enough  of  the  woman's  old 
charm  left  in  the  long,  heavily-lidded  violet-blue  eyes,  in 
the  way  in  which  her  lustrous  hair  grew  around  the  shell- 
like ear,  in  the  fashion  in  which  she  raised  the  comers 
of  her  mouth  in  a  budding  smile,  to  make  Marcus  Hol- 
beach,  lounging  opposite  in  a  deep  wicker  chair,  recall  in 
not  too  dissatisfied  fashion  the  days  of  her  splendid  ma- 
turity when  she  had  first  subjugated  him. 

Life  had  then  been  a  luxurious,  careless  thing  to  them 
both,  but  now  she  was  wavering  in  the  mid-thirties,  and, 
with  all  her  courageous  skill,  he  could  not  but  mark  the 
waning  of  her  glory,  while  he— Heavens,  did  all  men  of 
forty-five  feel  so  deadly  weary  of  life,  feel  so  oppressed 
by  their  consciousness  of  futility? 

There  were  men  he  met  daily,  men  whom  he  knew  to 
be  a  good  ten  years  older  than  himself,  who  still  wrestled 
for  the  world's  prizes,  with,  to  all  appearance,  the  avidity 
of  their  eager  twenties.  Perhaps  the  prizes  had  come  to 
him  too  early  and  too  easily  to  be  fully  valued.  Perhaps, 
in  another  sense,  they  had  come  too  late.  When  he  used 
to  enter  ballroom  or  theater  in  Lady  Warrenden's  wake, 
he  had  been  proud  of  her  beauty  and  of  her  notoriety  as 
one  of  the  most  reckless  pleasure-seekers  of  a  reckless 
set,  content  to  know  that  his  name  was  coupled  with  hers 
•  23 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


by  the  crowd.  Now,  he  sometimes  found  himself  won- 
dering if  that  crowd  pitied  him  for  the  weakness  that  kept 
him  her  property,  the  purveyor  of  bjr  extravagant 
amusements. 

None  of  these  thoughts  was  legible  on  his  impassively 
well-bred  face  as  he  watched  her  still  nibbling  at  dainty 
biscuits  though  he  himself  had  got  to  the  cigarette  stage. 
All  the  ,dme,  to  her  keenly  trained  perceptions  the  at- 
mosphere of  his  mental  weariness  may  have  made  itself 
felt  as  a  warning  note. 

"This  perpetual  tearing  about  in  motors  in  all  the  dust 
and  glare  must  lie  ruination  to  one's  looks,"  she 
grumbled.  "I  think  that  when  I  get  back  to  England,  I'll 
forswear  the  things  and  only  use  horses.  It  would  be 
rather  a  chic  idea.    Motors  are  getting  too  common." 

"We'll  have  up  the  four-in-hand  in  town,"  he  agreed 
somewhat  absently.  "By  the  bye,  when  do  you  think  of 
going  north?" 

A  flicker  of  watchful  violet  eyes  told  that  the  wished- 
for  point  of  discussion  was  reached. 

"Easter  is  late  this  year  and  will  be  just  right  for 
Paris.  I  shall  want  a  week  or  so  there  to  see  about 
clothes.  The  early  races  would  be  on,  too.  After  that, 
one  might  as  well  get  back  to  town.  How  would  that 
suit  you  ?"  she  asked,  with  promptitude  which  revealed  a 
mental  rehearsal. 

"Perfectly,"  he  agreed  politely.  "From  then  to  the 
end  of  May  would  give  me  enough  of  it." 

The  elaborate  unconsciousness  of  the  remark  presaged 
a  doubt  as  to  its  reception. 

"Enough  of  what  ?"  she  asked  tartly. 

"Of  town  and  its  never  ending  scrimmage.  I  tire  of 
it  sooner  than  I  used  to." 

"I'm  glad  I  don't  tire  of  things,"  she  commented.  "But 


24 


LADY  WARRENDEN'S  VILLA 


If  you  give  up  town,  what  are  you  going  to  put  in  its 

t^M  Th  aT^I  t^  ''°"''  "'""^  Soing  if  you'll  only  wait 
till  the  middle  of  June,  though  I  doubt  if  even  then  we 
should  get  together  a  decent  party.  No  one  wants  to 
miss  Ascot. 

"There's  no  need  for  you  to  miss  Ascot.  At  for  me 
Im  starting  for  my  Canadian  river  on  the  second  of 
June. 

It  was  what  Lady  Warrenden  had  feared,  but  her  dis- 
may at  being  deserted  in  the  midst  of  the  London  season 
was  none  the  less  keen  for  that.  She  had  made  so  sure 
that  last  year  s  yachting  on  the  Norway  coast  had  broken 
up  his  tiresome  years-old  habit  of  vanishing  into  the 
western  wilderness  for  the  better  part  of  the  summer,  a 
habit  which  she  always  felt  as  an  annually  recurring 
threat  to  her  supremacy.  Under  the  influence  of  tUs 
dismay  she  walked  wearily  and  restrained  her  temper 

Canada!  And  I  had  been  so  counting  on  the  Nor- 
wegian cruise.  Don't  you  remember  how  we  talked  of 
going  on  to  Finland  and  St.  Petersburg  this  time?" 

Her  voice  was  musical  and  her  wonderful  violet  eyes 
pleaded  for  her  own  way. 

Remembering  how  often  she  had  thus  won  it  he 
hardened  his  heart,  and  made  steady  answer: 

"I  must  not  neglect  my  own  river  this  year.  If  one 
stays  away  too  long,  things  are  sure  to  go  wrong.  But 
there  s  no  reason  you  shouldn't  go  to  Norway  if  you  want 
to.  If  I  chartered  a  yacht,  Darvell  would  be  only  too  glad 
to  go  and  run  things  for  you.  You  could  take  four  or 
nve  people. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  ,iad  thus,  in  lazy 
cynicism  purchased  his  liberty  from  her,  but  the  mortifi- 
cation of  It  stung,  nevertheless. 

as 


MARCUS  HOLBEAC"S   I'AUGHTER 


If-' 
if/' 


"I  shouldn't  care  to  go  v  iAout  you,"  she  murmured 
with  pathos. 

Leaning  back  in  her  chair,  she  reached  out  one  hand  to 
grasp  a  drooping  spray  of  roses,  while  with  the  other 
she  deliberately  pulled  off  the  leaves  and  scattered  them 
on  the  black  and  white  tiled  pavement.  There  was  some- 
thing feline  in  the  action  and  the  nervous  contraction 
of  Kolbeach's  eyebrows  told  that  it  grated  on  him. 
He  remembered  a  woman  who  never  touched  a  flower 
save  caressingly.  As  the  last  rose  leaves  within 
reach  fell,  she  looked  up  with  a  smile  wherein  lurked 
mischief. 

"I've  generally  found  you  a  pretty  good  judge  of  what 
was  enjoyable,  so  suppose  I  were  to  try  the  Canadian 
forests  and  their  secret  of  youth.  I  needn't  stay  all  th<j 
time  on  your  river  unless  I  liked  it.  There  must  be  lots 
of  other  places  to  go  to." 

She  had  learnt  what  she  wanted  to  know.  She  had 
guessed  it  before,  now  she  was  certain  that  he  had  some 
reason  for  not  letting  her  approach  his  hidden  Paradise. 
That  reason  =he  felt  sure  was  a  woman.  His  start,  his 
vexed  laugh  as  he  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigarette,  be- 
trayed him. 

"You  wouldn't  stay  over  one  night,  I'll  take  my  oath," 
he  asserted. 

"Why  not?" 

"You  would  never  stand  the  black-flies.  An  boor  of 
them  would  reduce  your  complexion  to  a  ro'ignificent 
ruin.    Even  mosquitoes  are  a  joke  to  them." 

"I  could  wear  a  veil." 

"No  veil  can  keep  them  out.  They  are  in  your  ears, 
hair,  everywhere." 

"How  do  you  stand  them  then  ?"  she  reijotitd. 

"We  MJK^  strong  tobacco  and  vtxax  our  face*  with 
26 


LADY  WARRENDEN'S  VILLA 

a  mixture  of  tar  and  pennyroyal.    How  would  you  like 
that?" 

"Horrors!"  she  shivered.  "But  you  only  have  those 
flies  in  the  woods,  don't  you?  There  must  be  some  civ- 
ilized watering-places  with  hotels  where  I  could  stay  for 
a  bit,  aren't  there?  The  novelty  of  it  would  amuse  me, 
Im  sure." 

Knowing  her  keen  vitality,  her  andity  for  new  impres- 
sions, he  realized  the  emergency  that  threatened,  and, 
praying  that  she  might  never  hear  of  the  beauty  and  com- 
fort of  the  hotel  that  from  the  cliffs  of  Quebec  over- 
looks the  St.  Lawrence,  he  lied  skilfully  and  boldly. 

"There  are  watering-places,  I  believe,  with  great,  bare 
caravansenes  of  hotels  crowded  with  women  and  chil- 
dren, such  a  thing  as  a  man  never  being  seen  between 
Monday  and  Saturday.  I  can  bear  testimony  to  the  July 
exodus  from  Canadian  cities,  it  having  been  my  fate  once 
or  twice  to  travel  down  the  Gulf  by  boat  or  train  just 
when  It  was  at  its  height.  Both  boat  and  train  literally 
overflowed  with  children.  One  could  hardly  help,  step- 
ping on  them.  And  babies!  Never  did  I  hear  such  a 
chorus  of  babies  as  one  stuffy  night  in  the  Pullman  going 
down  from  Quebec.  From  what  I  saw,  Canada  need  not 
fear  race  suicide." 

"Heavens!"  she  shuddered,  but  I.,  went  on  remorse- 
lessly : 

"The  families  that  don't  put  up  in  hotels  have  little 
pink  and  white  wooden  cottages  along  the  shores,  and 
sMm  to  live  an  amphibious,  picnic  sort  of  life,  often 
without  any  servants  at  all-"  "  Here  he  paused  to  con- 
template his  woric. 

"It  sounds  awful,"  she  admitted.  "But  there  must  be 
some  people  without  babies." 

He  was  inexorabie. 

«7 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


II' 


"If  there  are,  they  don't  seem  to  count  in  the  scheme 
of  existence,  M  bas." 

She  made  no  further  protest,  but  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tactics  began : 

"I  daresay  it  would  be  more  in  my  line  to  accept  Mrs. 
Darcy-Huyster's  ii-vitation  to  go  out  to  Newport  with  her 
after  Ascot.  She  has  a  gorgeous  villa  there,  you  know, 
and  they  say  she  does  things  regardless.  When  you  had 
enough  of  your  black-flies  and  salmon  you  could  come 
there  and  get  civilized.    It's  not  far,  is  it  ?" 

No  sooner  had  Holbeach  disposed  of  one  peril  than  an- 
other loomed  up.     ' 

"About  vhe  distance  of  London  to  Algiers,"  he  replied. 
Then,  after  a  moment's  hesitation :  "But  I  doubt  if  I  sha'l 
he  in  any  hurry  to  get  back  to  civilization  and  Mrs. 
Darcy-Huyster.  I  thought  of  ending  the  summer  with  a 
cruise  along  the  north  shore  of  the  Gulf  toward  Labra- 
dor. An  old  friend  of  mine  in  Quebec  has  always  wanted 
me  to  go  with  him." 

"And  any  society  would  evidently  be  more  to  your  taste 
than  mine,'  she  said,  rising  in  a  swift  flash  of  temper 
that  sent  her  parasol  clattering  to  the  pavement,  its  yel- 
low tortoise-shell  handle  shivered  to  bits.  Shoving  it 
aside  impatiently  with  her  foot  she  moved  forward  to 
the  heavy  stone  coping  and  stood  there  staring  down 
through  the  veiling  trees  at  the  carriages  and  motor  cars 
passing  on  the  boulevard  below.  The  revealed  glories  of 
mountain,  sea,  and  sky  could  not  draw  one  glance  from 
the  beautiful,  angry  eyes. 

In  earlier  days,  Mr.  Holbeach  had  been  amused  by  such 
childish  ebullitions  of  temper  and  had  been  too  apt  to 
yield  the  disputed  point.  To-day,  for  some  reason,  it 
vexed  him  and  fixed  his  purpose.  With  a  sudden  resolu- 
tion of  movement  he  rose  and  joined  her,  showing  a  tall 
28 


LADY   WARRENDEN'S   VILLA 


figtire,  still  slim  and  alert  in  its  careful  tailoring.  With 
folded  anus  he  leant  against  the  pilaster  of  a  flower 
vase,  and  steadily  contemplated  the  half-averted  face  and 
tigure. 

"See  here,  Violet,  what's  the  good  of  this?"  he  began 
m  ow,  even  tones.    "Last  year  I  let  you  persuade  me  fnto 
following  your  ideas  instead  of  my  own.    This  year  I've 
made  my  plans  to  go  out  to  my  river  as  usual,  and,  as 
usual    I  intend  to  go  alone.     One  can't  go  dragging  a 
m.xed-up  party  all  that  distance,  and  it  would  bf  mere 
folly  for  you  to  come  oflF  there  alone  with  me  at  this  time 
of  day.     People  aren't  going  to  stand  everything,  you 
know,  and  it  might  turn  out  awkward  for  you  if  your 
brother  and  his  wife  were  to  give  you  the  cold  shoulder." 
Ihe  knell  of  ner  waning  power  sounded  clear  to  her 
m  every  word  he  spoke,  but  she  was  too  subtle  to  give 
him  the  chance  by  any  reproach  of  hers  of  putting  it  Into 
more  tangible  form.    Quick  to  realize  that  this  wa«  no 
moment  for  temper,  she  looked  up  at  him  with  quivering 
smile  and  misty  eyes,  murmuring  softly  • 

"Forgive  me  if  I  seem  exacting.  It  is  only  that  I 
know  I  shall  be  so  lonely,  so-well,  how  can  I  help  fancv- 
mg  that  you  may  forget  me,  that  some  younger,  fresher 
woman  may  take  my  place  with  you?" 

His  laugh  both  reassured  and  frightened  her,  reassured 
because  it  told  her  that  there  was  no  woman-magnet 
drawing  him,  frightened,  because  she  saw  that  she  had 
made  him  really  angry.  For  all  his  endurance  of  her 
moods,  she  was  keen  enough  to  know  th-.t  a  certain  cyn- 
ical laziness  rather  than  a  lack  of  moral  courage  was  its 
cause,  a  cause  that  might  snap  under  too  hard  pressure 
the  anger  passed  without  further  manifestation  than  the 
cold  remark : 

"I  should  keep  such  vivid  powers  of  imagination  tor 
29 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


I'll 


the  designing  of  your  frocks,  if  I  were  you.  And  now, 
if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  stroll  back  to  the  hotel.  We 
are  dining  on  board  Thorold's  yacht,  you  remember." 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  relieved  at  the  ending  of  the 
interview.  Some  other  day  she  would  return  to  tht 
charge,  and  try  to  keep  him  from  the  renewal  of  the 
yearly  expedition  which  she  intuitively  recognized  as 
an  antagonistic  element.  There  was  something,  someone 
out  there  that  drew  him  away  from  her,  that  stood  be- 
tween them  even  when  he  was  with  her.  It  was  a  mat- 
ter of  life  or  death  to  this  woman,  who  so  loved  the 
world  and  its  luxuries,  to  keep  her  hold  on  this  rich 
man,  with  no  visible  ties  save  the  nephew  whom  he  had 
brought  up  as  his  heir. 

"I  must  try  to  pump  Giles  when  I  see  him,"  she  mur- 
mured, as  she  went  upstairs  to  rest  in  preparation  for 
the  evening. 

Strolling  down  the  broad  white  boulevard  that  now  lay 
in  blue-gray  shadow,  Marcus  Holbeach  pondered  in  bit- 
terness of  spirit : 

"Poor  Violet!  She  somehow  guesses  that  her  fate 
hangs  in  the  balance.  If  Giles  will  do  as  I  wish,  and 
bring  my  little  girl  to  England,  I  must,  in  fairness  to 
them,  become  a  pillar  of  respectability.  And  yet,  isn't  it 
too  late,  and  doesn't  Violet  suit  me  best  after  all  ?  Well, 
it's  in  the  lap  of  the  gods." 

Summing  up  thus,  he  entered  the  palm-shadowed 
gates  of  one  of  Cannes'  great  white  hotel-palaces. 


Im 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  CHATEAUGUAY 

LANSE  LOUISE  had  awakened  from  its  six 
months'  sleep  between  the  mystery  of  forest- 
^  clad  hills  and  the  solitude  of  ice-bound  bay 
and  outer  Gulf.  The  open  water  was  once 
more  radiantly  responsive  to  each  change  of  sky  and 
wind.  The  dark,  forested  hill-tops  were  unflecked  by 
snow,  though  in  shadowed  northern  valleys  an  occasional 
gray  remnant  of  a  great  drift  still  Ungered.  These  last 
traces  of  winter  served  only  to  accentuate  the  stir  of 
woodland  life. 

Great  flocks  of  wild  geese  passed  over,  flying  north, 
honking  as  they  went,  and  robins  sang  in  every  clearing, 
while  "poor  Tom  Ken  edy's"  mournful  call  came  bell- 
like from  the  woods.  Out  on  Cap  Rosier  and  Ship  Head 
and  down  on  the  long  shoal  in  the  curve  of  the  Bay, 
the  lighthouses  once  more  sparkled  at  night,  telling  that 
the  Gulf's  great  highway  was  open. 

Already,  the  season  being  early,  several  forerunners 
of  half  a  continent's  traffic  had  passed  up  toward  the  dis- 
tant cities,  and  the  first  down  boat  from  Quebec  was 
now  due. 

The  big  lumber  mills  at  St.  Majorique  and  the  Bar- 
achois  had  commenced  work  on  the  first  logs  of  the  sea- 
son, humming  like  a  hive  of  bees  and  sending  up  their 
clouds  of  fragrant  blue  smoke  to  cling  to  the  hillsides  as 
though  the  souls  of  the  sacrificed  trees  were  seeking  in 

3» 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

death  to  rejoin  their  comrades,  still  erect  in  somber  ranks. 
For  all  the  austerity  of  the  northland,  the  gloom  of  its 
endless  forests,  the  storm-beat  spaces  of  its  great  Gulf, 
there  was  an  air  of  homely  cheerfulness  over  Lanse 
Louise  as  its  scattered  string  of  tin-roofed  houses  blinked 
in  the  May  sunshine.  On  the  fields  that  crept  up  the 
slope  behind  the  houses  to  meet  the  squares  of  woodland 
lots  where  the  young  spruce  were  growing  up  in  place  of 
the  sacrificed  hardwood,  men  were  already  beginning  to 
plow  for  their  crops  of  potatoes  and  oats,  their  few 
late  vegetables. 

That  line  of  houses  and  those  small  clearings  are  about 
the  only  change  iij  the  outward  aspect  of  things  since  the 
summer  days  nearly  four  hundred  years  ago,  when 
Jacques  Cartier,  sailiiiji  westward  into  unknown  seas, 
planted  a  cross  on  the  point  out  there  that  still  bears  the 
name  of  French  Bluff.  Since  then,  French  and  English 
have  voyaged  past,  to  wage  war  against  each  other  and 
the  Indians,  to  make  themselves  homes,  to  build  cities, 
cut  down  forests,  plow  the  prairies,  lay  railways,  reach- 
ing to  the  further  seas,  to  found  a  new  nation,  but  these 
Gulf  shores  have  remained  the  abode  of  a  few  fishermen 
and  the  Jersey  traders  who  buy  their  fish  and  supply  their 
needs  from  great  store-houses,  remained  the  haunt  of 
lumbermen  who  hew  down  the  forests  in  winter  and  in 
summer  work  the  mills  that  prepare  the  timber  for 
shipping. 

Of  later  years  these  regions  have  known  new  fre- 
quenters, the  rich  Americans  or  Canadians  who  lease 
from  the  Government  the  salmon  rivers,  building  com- 
fortable camps  for  themselves  even  up  on  the  distant 
North  Shore.  The  month  of  June  brings  these  lucky  be- 
ings either  in  yachts  or  by  mail-boat,  and  welcome  they 
are  for  the  money  they  spend  and  the  employment  they 

32 


THE   CHATEAUGUAY 


I 


give  to  a  set  of  men  versed  in  the  lore  of  forest  and 
stream.  Autumn  has  its  own  excitement  of  the  arrival 
of  hunting  parties  bound  for  the  inland  fastnesses  of 
moose  and  caribou  and  red  deer,  and,  though  the  holiday 
crowd  of  tourists  passes  by  more  trodden  routes,  every 
summer  sees  a  certain  number  of  quietly  busy  folk,  natur- 
alists, geologists,  botanists,  all  come  to  study  these  out- 
of-the-way  regions.  But  on  this  sunny  May  afternoon 
no  stranger  from  the  outside  world  beyond  the  energetic 
commercial  traveler  had  as  yet  broken  in  upon  the 
winter  seclusion  of  Lanse  Louise. 

There  was,  however,  a  perceptible  air  of  expectation 
over  the  village.  A  little  group  of  men  and  boys  loitered 
about  the  post-ofBce  whence  came  telegraphic  news  of  the 
outside  world;  buckboards  covered  with  country  mud 
drove  up  and  down  the  steep  winding  road  that  led  to 
the  wharves  and  stores  on  the  Point,  the  business  center 
of  the  place.  It  was  here  that  the  steamers  and  coasting 
vessels  moored.  Here  stood  the  big  white  store  of  the 
Dorval  Company,  the  Jersey  house  that  rules  the  Gulf 
from  Cape  Breton  to  Gaspe  with  a  patriarchal  hand, 
stores  where  everything,  from  a  sailor's  mattress  down 
to  Jersey  cologne  and  French  chocolate,  could  be  bought 
from  pleasant-mannered  Jersey  boys,  gentlemen's  sons, 
apprentices  in  the  old  fashion  to  the  big  firm.  These 
boys  lived  with  Paul  Dorval,  the  partner,  who  had  for 
years  made  his  home  in  Lanse  Louise  and  it  was  the 
great  bell  at  his  house  on  the  hill  that,  ringing  to  call 
them  up  to  their  meals,  gave  the  time  to  the  village. 

Dorval  seemed  not  to  have  escaped  the  contagion  of 
restlessness  in  the  air,  for  he  was  pacing  the  end  of  his 
wharf,  pausing  every  now  and  then  to  stare  over  toward 
the  long  curve  of  the  outer  Bay,  landlocked  between  its 
hills. 

33 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


Presently,  his  attention  was  caught  by  a  feriT-boat 
leaving  the  opposite  point  of  the  Basin,  narrowed  here  at 
its  mouth.  In  its  stem  sat  Esther  Sabine  and  Virginia 
Holbeach,  and  recognizing  them,  he  strolled  over  to  the 
ferry  steps  to  meet  them. 

Lightly  balancing  themselves,  as  those  used  to  tossing 
craft,  the  girls  left  the  boat  and  scrambled  up  the  steps 
to  join  him.  Both  wore  the  short  serge  skirts  and  trim 
jackets  suited  to  country  rambles,  but  Virginia's  attire 
was  of  a  cut  and  material  that  bespoke  a  fashionable 
tailor,  while  Esther's  suggested  an  order  by  mail  to  one 
of  the  Montreal  cheap  department  stores.  Their  hair 
was  loosened  under  their  caps  by  the  soft  west  wind,  and 
an  indescribable  breath  of  youth  and  spring  seemed  to 
Dorval  to  encompass  them. 

Each  was  laden  with  clusters  of  mayflower,  the  sweet- 
scented  trailing  arbutus  that  brings  the  first  breath  of 
flowers  to  northern  lands.  Is  there  anyone  who,  as  a 
child,  has  crouched  in  the  still,  bare  woods  to  scatter  last 
year's  withered  leaves  and  draw  out  from  their  shelter 
the  first  mayflower,  fragrant  and  rosy  like  a  fresh  hope, 
to  whom  it  is  not  through  life  the  flower  of  flowers?  In 
later  years,  we  may  gather  English  primroses  and  blue- 
bells, Mediterranean  anemones  and  heath,  but  to  us  of 
the  Northland  the  mayflower  is  ever  the  blossom  of 
youth,  of  memory,  of  the  beloved  dead. 

Virginia  hugged  her  spoil  in  a  great,  straggling  mass 
within  one  arm,  but  Esther's  was  trimly  stowed  away  in 
a  basket  she  carried. 

"So  you've  been  to  the  woods  ?"  was  Dorval's  greeting 
as  he  turned  to  walk  beside  them. 

"Only  up  the  bank  behind  the  salmon  hatchery," 
Esther  answered.  "The  mayflowers  are  always  so  pink 
there  in  the  shade.    But  that  was  an  afterthought.    We 

34 


THE   CHATEAUGUAY 

really  went  to  Mrs.  URoy's  because  mother  wanted  to 
•end  her  some  brawn." 

"For  the  feast  of  the  Prodigal  Son?  Brawn  is  made 
of  veal,  I  believe?"  Dorval  asked  with  the  careless  jest 
of  one  who  is  in  an  excellent  humor. 

Virginia  turned  on  him,  her  face  flushing  vividly,  as 
clear  colorless  skins  do  flush,  and  said  impulsively : 

"Why  should  you  call  Jack  LeRoy  a  Prodigal  Son? 
Failure  is  no  disgrace,  if  you  have  done  your  best." 

"And  all  Jack's  friends  know  that  he  has  done  that— in 
fact,  that  he's  a  bit  of  a  hero,  don't  we?"  he  mollified 
her  with  an  indulgent  smilp. 

Long  ago,  when  Virginia  was  in  very  short  frocks, 
Dorval  had  fallen  into  the  semi-paternal  attitude  of  a 
youthful  guardian  toward  her,  and,  indeed,  it  was  he  to 
whom,  in  Mr.  Holbeach's  absence,  all  business  matters 
at  the  BluflF  House  were  referred. 

"Jack  is  a  lucky  fellow  at  any  rate  in  having  such 
stanch  friends,"  he  added  good-naturedly.  "By  the  bye, 
did  you  know  that  the  Chateauguay  passed  Cap  Rosier 
an  hour  ago,  and  should  be  in  sight  at  any  time  now  ?  I 
suppose  you're  going  to  wait  down  here  with  me  and  see 
her  come  in?" 

"€Ai,  no,  I  think  not,"  Virginia  said  with  a  flurried 
glance  of  appeal  at  her  friend,  a  glance  in  which  longing 
was  mixed  with  a  certain  new  shyness. 

"Now  you  know  you  men  like  the  first  turn  at  all  our 
excitements  to  yourself,  so  we'll  be  modest  and  leave  you 
a  clear  field.  Come  along,  Virginia,"  Esther  said  with 
cheerful  decision. 

As  Dorval  watched  them  climb  the  Bluff,  he  shook  his 
head,  muttering: 

"Whatever  comes  of  it,  it  will  be  no  use  Holbeach 
UMaiiig  me.    I  couldn't  have  left  Hector  URoy's  boy 

3'- 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

to  starve  in  the  wilderness  without  having  a  try  at  getting 
him  out." 

Reaching  the  hotel  door,  Esther  paused : 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  in,"  she  said  wistfully,  for 
the  outdoors  expectation  appealed  to  her,  and  hers  was 
a  nature  that  loved  life. 

But  Virginia  held  her  arm  and  pleaded : 

"Ah,  no!  It's  early  yet.  Come  on  with  me  as  far 
as  the  French  church,  and  we'll  watch  the  steamer 
from  there.  It's  so  stupid  to  be  always  doing  your 
duty." 

"Nobody  kno^s  that  better  than  I  do,  so  I  might  as 
well  come,"  Esther  agreed,  and  they  went  on  their  way 
down  the  village  street. 

Out  on  a  jutting  spur  of  the  Bluff  it  stood,  the  little 
white  wooden  church,  with  its  tin-roofed  belfry  and 
great  gaunt  black  cross  seen  from  far  down  the  Bay, 
standing  among  the  few  graves  wreathed  with  black- 
berry vines,  and  spring's  first  grasses.  Two  old  fir  trees 
rose  monumentally  stiff  and  strai^'ht  between  the  church 
and  the  cliffs  edge,  and  beneath  these  was  stacked  the 
wood-pile  for  the  warming  of  the  faithful.  Perhaps  one 
reason  why  winter  in  Lanse  Louise  was  robbed  of  its 
sordid  terrors,  was  this  abundance  of  wood,  splendid 
wood  that  suggested  a  glowing  mass  of  logs.  Even  if 
everyone  had  not  owned  his  separate  wood-lot,  if  they 
could  not  buy  a  sledge-load  for  a  merely  nominal  sum, 
were  there  not  great  logs  and  twisted  tree-roots  heaped 
along  the  river  banks  and  the  shores,  gray  and  weather- 
beaten,  ready  for  burning  ? 

As  the  girls  reached  the  little  gate  in  the  white  paling 
fence,  Virginia  looked  seaward.  Yes,  there  it  was,  dim 
but  unmistakable,  the  white  trail  of  smoke  against  the 
blue  of  the  distant  shore,  the  flutter  of  a  red  flag  in 

36 


THE   CHATEAUGUAY 


the  sunshine,  and,  to  make  matters  sure,  the  hoot  of  a 
warning  whistle.   The  Ckateauguay  was  in  sight. 

"Oh,  there  she  is  I  Come  over  here!"  Virginia  said, 
leading  the  way  across  the  short  grass  behind  the  church! 
A  few  logs  had  been  taken  from  the  wood-pile  to 
form  a  seat  under  the  firs,  and  here  they  sat  down  with- 
out speaking,  each  for  the  time  absorbed  in  the  watch. 
The  later  afternoon  light  was  deepening  in  tone,  the  tide 
was  out,  and  over  the  shallow  fiats  beneath  them  the  re- 
flections lay  rich  bronze  green,  only  broken  when  a  black 
cormorant  flapped  heavily  down  from  his  perch  on  one 
of  the  net-stakes  to  dive  after  a  fish  or  skim  away  over 
the  water  with  a  hoarse  cry.  The  stillness  was  cheerful 
with  its  sense  of  sunny  repose,  of  coming  action. 
It  was  Esther  who  spoke  first. 

"I  wonder  how  many  years  I've  come  here  in  Novem- 
ber to  watch  the  last  boat  go,  and  in  May  to  hail  its 
advent.  Every  time  I  see  it  disappearing  down  the  Bay 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  devil  shows  me  a  panorama  of 
bright  town  streets  and  theaters  on  winter  nights,  and 
sunny  mornings  with  dry  sidewalks  when  well-dressed 
women  walk  about  to  beautiful  shops  full  of  clothes,  and 
flowers  and  pictures— all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and 
the  glory  of  them.  And  then,  when  she  gets  to  the 
lighthouse,  the  steamer  gives  that  last  whistle  that  sounds 
as  though  it  were  mocking  one,  and  I  just  defy  the  devil 
and  go  home  to  face  the  six  months.  Well,  this  winter 
is  over,  at  any  rate." 

"Yes,  it's  over,"  Virginia  echoed  with  a  thrill  in  her 
voice,  her  eyes  never  wandering  from  that  red  speck  of 
flag  momentarily  growing  larger. 

Esther  went  on  talking,  perhaps  with  the  object  of  di- 
verting her  friend's  attention,  perhaps  just  idly,  as  one 
talks  when  with  a  habitual  companion. 

37 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


"Last 


III 

Ml; 


November  it  didn't  seem  so  forlorn  when  you 
were  here  with  me.  Do  you  remember  my  asking  if  you 
weren't  just  a  bit  sorry  that  you  had  chosen  to  stoy,  and 
you  said  no?" 

"And  I  wasn't,  and  never  have  been,"  Virginia  said 
reflectively.  "It  was  ever  so  much  nicer  being  here  in 
our  own  cozy  hcane  than  it  would  have  been  hanging 
about  those  big,  noisy  Florida  or  California  hotels  where 
I  always  feel  so  lonely.  Everyone  save  me  seems  to  have 
so  many  friends.  The  time  was  much  shorter  th..t  way." 
Her  friend  gave  her  a  quick  inquiring  glance,  as 
though  somethihg  in  the  words  caught  her  notice. 

"Shorter?"  she  protested.  "But  I  don't  want  time  to 
be  shorter.  I  want  to  get  all  I  can  into  it,  and  not  have 
the  best  of  life  slipping  away  in  these  months  of  hibernat- 
ing that  don't  leave  one  a  single  thing  to  remember.  Just 
think,  has  any  one  thing  really  happened  between  now 
and  last  November?"  Virginia,  her  eyes  always  fixed  on 
the  approaching  steamer,  answered  somewhat  absently : 
"Nothing  startling,  perhaps.  Still  there  were  all  those 
sunny  mornings,  those  wonderful  moonlight  nights,  the 
drives  over  the  frozen  rivers,  the  snowshoe  tramps 
through  the  woods.  Surely,  they  didn't  make  up  a  bad 
whole,  did  they?" 

"You  sound  like  a  nature  writer  in  the  Saturday  Mon- 
treal Star.  But,  of  course,  it  might  have  been  worse  and 
I'm  a  fool  to  grumble,  especially  when  it's  over,  and  here 
comes  the  beginning  of  a  new  chapter." 

It  was  the  other's  turn  to  look  as  though  the  words 
had  a  private  meaning  to  her. 

"A  new  chapter?"  she  repeated.     Then  with  a  sad 
little  laugh:    "I  doubt  if  it's  much  of  a  new  chapter  for 
poor  Jack." 
"Who  knows?"  Esther  protested  cheerfully.     "He's 
38 


THE   CHATF.ATTnrTAV 


ShTng."'"""'  ^"'  "''''  ~'"*  "-"^  -^^^  *>^af=  *e 

.J^^u^FL^''  '""''  "^  '''°"K  after  all  that  he  went 
tii'x.ugh,"  Vrginia  insisted,  a  trenjor  in  her  voice   'W 

food  doesn't  make  men  strong.    Oh-whether  that  hat^ 
ful  synd.cate  had  failed  or  not,  some  of  them  iht  a^ 

premise?  Tu  *^r~^  ^^  "P  *«>  them  a^fthey 
promised.    They  didn't  go  hungiy,  you  may  be  sure." 

look  and  7Z  7 -'^'"^  '^'^  '='™^^'""^  *•*  »  ^'0"Wed 
..u.  ?,  -^  "  *™'^  '*>  =*"''«  '^  "ghter  note: 
Well,  It  was  all  right  in  the  end,  thanks  to  Mr  Dorval 
and  the  Tathems,  and  Jack  isn't  hungry  „„«,,  y^^l' 
trust  Captain  Uisons  for  that.  See  how  near  ^e 
Reamer  ,s.  He  can  make  out  the  houses  now,  win  s  ^n 
be  able  to  see  us."    Virginia  had  moved  forward   oihe 

eyes     Presently  she  spoke  without  looking  round- 
Tha?s  Sr  *"'  """  °"  *'  ""'^^  *'*  *•=  Captain? 

Esther  looked  and,  only  seeing  one  black  figure  like 
ano  her,  wondered  how  she  could  distinguish  hta 
Let  us  wave  to  him,"  was  all  she  said 

But  Virginia  checked  her  hand.     "Oh,   don't  I     At 
least-perhaps  he'd  rather  we  weren't  w'atcWng  him 

There,  they're  cheering  him  1    So  you  see  Jack  has  a  wd 
come  at  any  rate,"  she  added  jubilantly. 

we  hL'ZZt"  ^""'t''^^^-    Well,  if  we're  not  to  wave, 
we  had  better  be  going  home-at  least,  I  must.     Mother 

tT^l  ".T'J"^  '''"'  '"  '^''^^  -y°«  shouW  come 
m^th^e^boat;  still,  there's  apt  to  be  something  to  see  to  at 

At  the  churchyard  gate  the  girls  parted,  going  differ- 
*  39 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

ent  ways.  Esther  turned  back  toward  the  square  yellow 
house  and  her  duties  there,  and  Virginia  went  on  up  the 
country  road  to  where  oa  its  sloping  hill  stood  the  most 
dignified  dwelling  in  Lanse  Louise,  the  BluS  House, 
where  she  and  Miss  Creighton,  her  former  governess 
and  present  housekeeper  and  chaperon,  lived  alone  in  a 
sort  of  stately  seclusion. 


CHAPTER   V 
THE  FATTED  CALF 

MORE  than  one  new  red  flag  waved  over 
Lanse  Louise   the    day   the   Chateauguay 
came,  but  the  newest  and  brightest  and 
smallest  flaunted  over  the  little  pink  cot- 
tage across  the  Basin. 

And  the  flag  was  not  the  only  sign  of  festivity.  Over 
the  door  had  been  nailed  a  great  branch  of  hemlock  from 
which  fluttered  little  bows  of  red  ribbon.  These  bows 
havmg  seen  service  on  a  dressing-gown  of  Virginia's,  had 
been  passed  on  to  her  old  friend  for  the  naking  of 
hooked  mats,  and  pressed  by  Mrs.  URoy's  color-loving 
soul  mto  the  service  of  decoration. 

Indoors,  the  living-room  was  bowery  with  the  green 
ferns  and  creepers  that  had  lived  out  the  winter  under 
the  snow,  with  great  dishes  of  fragrant  mayflowers,  while 
even  the  robin's  cage  had  a  crown  of  green  and  the 
squirrel  was  brave  in  a  red  bow  which  he  had  nearly 
scratched  off.  ' 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  the  table,  covered  with  a 
coarse  white  cloth,  was  set  out  in  un,vomed  splendor 
In  the  center  stood  a  frosted  cake  on  which  the  words 
Welcome  Home"  had  been  daintily  picked  out  in  pink. 
Mrs.  Sabmes  mold  of  brawn  had  been  adorned  with 
cubes  of  carrot  and  beetroot,  and  two  little  common 
glass  saucers  held  rosy  jam. 
For  an  hour  or  more  Mrs.  LeRoy  had  restlessly  paced 
41 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


the  garden  path.  Her  usual  dark  blue  cotton  was 
freshly  starched,  and  her  still  abundant  grizzled  hair 
neatly  smoothed.  In  her  hand  she  held  her  dearest  pos- 
session, a  pair  of  battered  old  opera-glasses,  through 
which  she  had  watched  the  Chateouguay  curve  in  to  the 
wharf. 

"They're  cheering  Jack  I  For  sure,  they're  cheering 
Jack  I"  she  had  muttered  with  trembling  lips  when  the 
boats  put  out  to  meet  the  steamer. 

At  last  came  the  supreme  moment  when  she  saw  a 
canoe  leave  th«  Dorval  wharf.  There  was  but  one  man 
in  it,  and  he  sent  the  little  craft  springing  through  the 
water  with  long,  swift  strokes.  She  would  have  known 
those  strokes  anywhere. 

"If  that  ain't  him  all  over!"  she  gasped  aloud  in  the 
fashion  of  the  solitary.  "He's  taken  Mr.  Dorval's  own 
spick  an'  span  an'  shiny  canoe.  No  dug-outs  for  himt 
He'll  allays  have  the  best  that's  goin',  just  like  his  pa. 
Welt,  it's  a  queer  thing  to  think  as  the  son  of  a  rough, 
old  thing  like  me  should  be  born  a  gentleman,  for  gentle- 
man he  is,  though  he's  poor  now." 

There  was  an  ecstatic  pause  of  silent  watching,  then  as 
a  skilful  paddle  stroke  rounded  the  canoe  in  to  the  land- 
ing, and  she  saw  the  big  agile  figure  spring  out  and, 
balancing  itself  on  the  jetty,  wave  a  hand  toward  her, 
she  breathed : 

"Oh,  ain't  he  just  beautiful  in  them  new  clothes!" 

"Here  I  am,  mother!"  called  a  familiar  voice,  and  then 
tears  dimmed  the  hunger  of  her  eyes  until  her  arms  were 
around  him,  and  her  broken  voice  murmured  thanks  to 
God. 

It  was  one  of  the  sacred  moments  of  life  to  both 
mother  and  son.  When  her  hands  dropped  from  *'is  aeck 
she  held  him  off  to  feed  her  gaze  on  him. 


4a 


THE   FATTED   CALF 


Then  she  saw  how  the  new  suit  from  Quebec  she  had 
admired  a  moment  ago  hung  loose  on  his  gaunt  frame. 
There  were  hollows  in  his  cheeks,  too,  and  all  the  joyful 
excitement  of  the  home-coming  had  failed  to  banish  the 
somber  shadow  from  his  eyes,  the  shadow  of  fear. 

It  was  now  nearly  a  year  since  Jack  LeRoy  had  eagerly 
seized  the  chance  of  joining  as  timber  expert  an  expedi- 
tion sent  by  an  American  company  to  take  possession  of 
forest  limits  in  northern  Quebec.  The  leader  had  been 
badly  chosen,  the  outfit  carelessly  supplied,  and  things 
had  gone  badly  from  the  first,  so  that  in  mid-winter, 
when,  instead  of  the  promised  supplies,  word  of  the 
company's  failure  had  reached  them,  matters  looked  grim 
enough. 

Their  leader  died  and  Jack  was  chosen  by  vote  to  take 
command  of  the  forlorn  little  band  and  guide  it  back 
to  safety  before  provisions  should  give  out  altogether 

Thanks  to  Dorval's  timely  aid,  the  task  had  been  ac- 
complished-but  at  what  cost  the  new  lines  around  his 
mouth  the  ateiost  stem  gravity  of  his  face  partly  told 
He  had  wrestled  with  the  Wilderness  and  the  Powers  of 
the  North,  and  had  come  off  with  life,  but  something 
precious,  something  of  youth  and  hope  had  been  left 
behmd. 

Not  that  he  was  not,  even  now,  a  fine  specimen  of  stal- 
wart young  manhood.  In  his  big,  fair  bulk.  Jack  LeRoy 
was  as  thorough  a  Norman  as  though  his  father's  family 
had  not  dwelt  for  two  hundred  years  in  Jersey,  before  its 
profitless  scion  had  turned  his  handsome  face  westward 
m  the  anploy  of  one  of  the  big  companies;  as  though 
his  mother  had  not  come  of  Highland  stock;  as  though 
he  himself  had  not  been  bom  in  Lanse  Louise,  and  never 
thou^  he  had  wandered  far,  been  beyond  the  bounds  of 
Canada. 

43 


I  ill 

III 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Lord  bless  us,  but  you're  a  skeleton!"  Mrs.  LeRoy 
gasped.   Jack  laughed  away  a  tendency  to  choke. 

"Oh,  come,  not  as  bad  as  that.  I'll  soon  fill  out,"  he 
•aid;  then  looking  into  the  worn  old  face,  asked  gently: 

"Were  you  frightened,  mother,  when  you  didn't  hear 
for  so  long?" 

But  the  imputation  was  stoutly  denied. 
"Not  me  I    For  I  seed  you  at  nights,  trampin'  throu^ 
the  woods,  starved  to  a  shadow,  but  with  the  life  in  you. 
It  was  the  others  as  was  scared,  not  me." 
"What  other^s?" 

"Well,  the  time  that  Mr.  Dorval  went  to  Quebec  to  see 
about  you,  there  was  a  bitter  cold  day  when  the  nails 
was  poppin'  in  the  walls,  an'  your  eyelids  would  nave 
fruz  if  you  winked  them,  an"  that  child  Virginny  comes 
snowshoein' over  here  by  her  lone  with  Czar    ..." 

Jack  knew  his  mother's  trick  of  wrapping  a  grain  of 
information  in  a  covering  of  many  words  and  broke 
through  it  ruthlessly. 

"Virginia  I  How  came  she  to  be  here  in  the  winter 
time?    Is  she  here  now ?" 

"She  comed  to  be  here  in  the  winter  time  'cos  she  asked 
her  pa  to  let  her;  said,  like  the  wise  girl  she  is,  as  she 
was  tired  hangin'  round  them  big  hotels  where  they 
shoot  people  up  an'  down  in  cages  as  though  the  Lord 
h&Aa't  given  them  legs  to  walk  with.  An'  more'n  that, 
she's  in  Lanse  L  mise  now,  an'  was  here  in  this  very 
house  not  more'n  an  hour  ago,  and  brought  a  fine  frosted 
cake  with  'Welcome'  on  it  in  beautiful  pink  letters. 
Come  and  see." 

Her  hand  on  his  arm,  she  drew  him  in,  and  stood  be- 
fore the  results  of  h^r  toil,  a  proud  woman,  watching  his 
face. 

"And  she  put  them  mayflowers  round  it,  too." 


THE   FATTED   CALF 


"God  bless  her  I"  Jack  muttered  in  his  throat,  while 
one  big,  roughened  hand  reached  out  and  gently  fingered 
the  flowers. 

But  Mrs.  LeRoy  must  give  credit  to  all. 

"Yes,  and  Esther  Sabine  corned  along  with  her,  and 
fetched  that  mold  of  brawn  from  her  mother,  and,  I 
must  say,  if  there  is  a  woman  in  Unse  Louise  as  can 
make  better  brawn  that  I  car.  meself,  it's  Mrs.  Sabine." 

Jade  drew  a  deep  breath  as  he  looked  around  on  the 
familiar  little  room,  as  one  who  had  seen  it  in  a  vision 
when  hopes  were  slim  of  ever  looking  on  it  again  in  the 
flesh. 

"Well,  I  never  guessed  they'd  all  make  such  a  fuss 
over  me  when  I  come  back  a  failure,"  he  said  in  a 
somewhat  dazed  fashion. 

But  this  was  too  much  for  his  mother  to  allow. 

"You've  come  back  with  a  good  record  an'  them  men's 
lives  to  your  score.    Money's  a  poor  thing  beside  that." 

He  flushed  a  bit  as  though  there  was  something  hard 
to  say. 

"But,  mother,  you  understand  that  I've  come  with 
nothing  but  the  clothes  I  stand  in,  and  them  down  to  Mr. 
Dorval's  account  in  Quebec." 

The  big  hand  rested  gently  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  wouldn't  have  cared  if  you'  ccme  naked  as  yon  were 
bom,  save  for  decency's  sake,  an'  maybe  catchin'  cold,  so 
long  as  you  come." 

Even  with  this  startling  mental  picture  before  him  Jack 
still  looked  grave. 

"But— you  know  I  expected  to  be  sending  money  home 
to  you.  How've  you  managed,  mother?  Did  Mr. 
Dorval    .    .     ." 

Mrs.  LeRoy's  chuckling  little  laugh  broke  in. 

"Mr.  Dorvall    I  never  needed  Mr.  Dorval,  though 

45 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


!  'I 


that'*  not  to  »ay  as  he  wouldn't  allayi  be  a  cheerful 
giver,  the  Lord  bless  him  I" 

"Well,  but  tell  me  how  you  managed,"  Jack  persisted, 
and,  with  a  satisfied  smile,  his  mother  condescended  to 
details. 

"I  managed  just  the  same  as  I  did  in  the  years  be- 
fore you'd  got  your  learning  to  go  timber-scaling.    While 
babies  keeps  comin'  into  the  world,  an'  sick  folk  goin'  o>rt, 
I  guess  my  hands  won't  often  be  idle.    An'  they're  allays 
paid  for  it,  too,  more  or  less,  mostly  less,  like  when  Jules 
Simon's  wife  has  her  sixteenth  baby  an'  he  brings  me 
three  eels  an"  a  lobster  I    'Well,  for  the  sixteenth  you 
might  have  run  to  a  codfish,'  says  I— and  he  was  mean 
enough  to  say  as  codfish  was  common,  though  I  won't 
deny  as  the  eels  was  good  enough  eatin',  when  I'd 
stewed  them  the  French  way." 
Drawing  a  deep  breath  she  went  on : 
"Then,  my  pullets  allays  lays  a  good  month  afore  any- 
one else's,  the  reason  why,  I'm  not  sparin'  in  hot  drinks 
an'  Mr.  Dorval  allays  sends  me  his  oyster  shells  for 
them,  an'  Mrs.  Sabine  takes  all  the  eggs  an'  thankful, 
an'  the  summer  folk  hev  got  into  the  way  of  buying  my 
jams  an'  pickles,  an'  my  tuft-work  strips  as  they  call 
portairs    .     .     ." 

"But  those  are  all  such  small  things!"  Jack  pot  in, 
stemming  the  slow,  steady  stream. 

"  'Small  things  I'  ^gs  an'  jam  I  Well  then,  don't  you 
know  that  the  shore  people  keep  comin'  something  won- 
derful all  the  way  from  Douglastown  an'  Perce  to  buy 
ray  cures?  They  can't  have  enough  of  salve  of  hare's 
fat  and  wintergreen  oil  for  their  rheumatics,  an'  balsam 
fir  buds  in  rum  for  colds,  an'  flour  of  the  yellow  pond 
lily  roots  for  the  poor  dwindlin'  babies'  stomacha  ia 
August,  an'    .     .     ." 

46 


THE    FATTED   CALF 


Here  Jack  broke  out  into  a  laugh  in  which  she  heard 
the  old  echo. 

"Mother,  you're  twice  the  man  I  am!  Set  you  down 
at  the  North  Pole  and  you'd  grub  up  something.  Next 
time  I  go  on  a  trip  I  think  I'd  better  take  you  along,  too." 

The  deep-set  gray  eyes  twinkled. 

"  'Deed  an'  you  might  do  worse  I  'Tany  rate  I'd  see 
you  didn't  starve  I"  she  triumphed.  Then  returning  to 
facts:  "But  here  I'm  jabberin'  like  a  Newfoundlander 
when  you  haven't  as  much  as  sot  down  nor  taken  bite 
nor  sup.  Go  an'  wash  and  we'll  have  tea.  The  'ettle's 
boilm'  and  I'll  just  do  you  some  ham  an'  eggs  for  a  be- 
ginnin'." 

In  her  proud  old  soul  she  felt  that  no  gift  of  friend 
or  neighbor  must  take  the  place  of  her  own  work  at  that 
sacramental  meal. 

Jack  had  laughed,  but  he  felt  a  bit  choky  again  when 
having  climbed  to  his  little  attic  room,  he  saw  that  even 
here  there  were  traces  of  the  patient  love  that  had  worked 
and  waited  for  his  home-coming.  On  the  bed  was  a  new 
red  and  white  patchwork  quilt,  on  the  floor  a  resplendent 
hooked  mat. 

Spread  out  on  the  quilt  was  a  humble  little  home- 
made outfit.  Three  pairs  of  knitted  socks,  a  dark  blue 
jersey,  two  white  shirts  and  two  of  flannel,  and  a  little 
pile  of  coarse  handkerchiefs  were  nothing  very  grand  if 
he  had  not  understood  the  toil  and  saving  they  repre- 
sented. More  than  all,  on  the  pillow  were  pinned  two 
live-dollar  notes. 

"Well,  if  she  isn't  a  brick !"  he  muttered.  Then,  under 
his  breath,  but  with  full  purpose:  "Tore  God,  I'll  make 
It  up  to  her  some  day!" 


CHAPTER  VI 


FRIENDS 

THE  groups  that  greeted  the  steamboat's  arrival 
had  scattered,  but  though  the  late  sun  had 
sunk  behind  the  mountain,  buckboards  still 
drove  up  and  down  the  slanting  road  to  the 
Point,  and  the  rattle  of  the  ChaUaugua^s  donkey-engine 
tilled  the  air  with  unaccustomed  sound. 

Here  and  there  a  stranger  was  to  be  met  on  the  village 
street,  and  on  the  veranda  of  Sabine's  Hotel  dark, 
bustling  commercial  travelers  from  Quebec  smoked  and 
talked  with  their  friends.  Unlike  their  sleek  city 
brethren,  these  men  were  bronzed  and  hardened  by  tong 
winter  dnves  and  summer  voyages  about  the  Gulf 

Even  the  back  parlor  at  the  hotel  was  stirred  "out  of 
Its  vijmter  monotony  in  expectation  of  Captain  Loisons' 
usual  visit.  In  due  time  he  appeared,  the  sturdy  little 
Frenchman,  red  and  wrinkled  as  a  late  winter  apple 
greeting  the  family  in  the  careful  English  he  aired  to 
nis  summer  tourists. 

For  years  Captain  Loisons  had  sailed  the  Gulf  in  sum- 
mer, first  as  pilot,  later  as  captain  of  the  Chateauguay 
His  winters  in  Quebec,  where  his  wife  kept  a  boardine- 
house,  were  spent  in  poring  over  old  French  archives 
with  the  object  of  proving  a  theory  of  his  own  as  to 
Jacques  Cartier's  stopping  places  when  he  first  explored 
the  great  Gulf.  Every  tenth  man  of  over  fifty  in  Quebec 
IS  intent  on  some  such  feat  in  local  history. 
48 


FRIENDS 


Never  did  the  captain  fail  to  pay  his  evening  visit  to 
the  Sabines,  marking  the  opening  of  each  season  by  a 
little  gift  for  each  member  of  the  family. 

Esther  received  a  French  novel  "tout-4-fait  convenable 
pour  une  jeune  fille."  Mr.  Sabine  was  made  happy  with 
a  package  of  the  ^eeds  of  a  wonderful  new  Indian 
com  which  that  bugbear  of  the  Gulf,  Monsieur  Menier, 
the  chocolate  king  of  Anticosti,  had  acclimatized  in  his 
island  domains. 

"And  if  it  can  grow  in  that  boreal  Anticosti,  why  not 
m  Lanse  Louise?"  as  the  Captain  optimistically  re- 
marked. •' 

Mrs.  Sabine  was  presented  with  a  bottle  of  a  certain 
hot  sauce,  the  secret  of  which  was  an  ancestral  treasure 
m  his  wife's  family  ever  since  its  emigration  from  Aniou 
to  Quebec.  For  years  the  Captain  had  entertained  a 
chivalrous  admiration  for  Mrs.  Sabine,  "that  grande 
dame,  capable  of  every  art  of  the  housewife!" 

In  the  winter  months,  Paul  Dorval  was  an  almost 
nightly  visitor  for  his  game  of  chess  with  Mr.  Sabine 
but  to-night  there  was  no  thought  of  chess.  There  was 
a  second  visitor  whose  advent  caused  a  greater  stir  than 
Captain  Loisons',  for  there  had  been  days  when  it  seemed 
unlikely  that  he  would  ever  again  sit  by  that  fireside. 
Uose  on  Captain  Loisons'  heels  came  Jack  LeRoy  trim 
in  the  new  Quebec  clothes,  but  with  his  gauntness  as 
plain  to  their  friendly  eyes  as  it  had  been  to  his  mother's. 
There  isn't  an  inch  of  extra  flesh  on  you.  I  expected 
Loisons  to  do  better  with  you  than  that,"  Dorval  said 
with  a  kindly  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  but,  my  friend,  two  days  are  not  much !    Though 
If  you  had  seen  him  in  Quebec  you  would  have  con- 
fessed that  I  had  done  something,"  the  Captain  protested 
There  is  nothing  of  the  boy  left  in  you,  Jack,"  Mrs. 
49 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


Hi. 


Sabine  said  with  an  unwonted  touch  of  effusion,  as  she 
held  his  hand. 

Mr.  Dorval  noticed  how  her  eyes  turned  to  Esther  as 
though  the  mother  were  passing  him  on  into  her  charge, 
but  then  he  had  an  old  habit  of  noticing  what  Mrs.  Sabine 
did  or  said. 

"Well.  Jack,  how  do  you  like  being  the  hero  of  the 
day?  We  could  hear  them  cheering  up  here,"  was 
Esther's  gay  greeting. 

That  greeting  might  have  been  more  earnest  if  Esther 
had  not  felt  sure  that  her  parents  and  Dorval  were 
weighmg  its'  amount  of  feeling.  Middle  age  is  so  apt 
to  pair  off  the  most  evident  couples,  heedless  of  the  un- 
expected affinities  that  are  lurking  in  readiness  to  sur- 
prise them. 

"That  was  just  the  boys'  fooling,"  he  asserted  with 
shy  brusqueness. 

Somehow,  they  all  felt  that  Jack  did  not  wish  to  be 
made  the  central  figure  to-night,  just  wanted  to  sit  there 
among  them  and  feel  the  familiarity  of  it  all  stealing  over 
him  like  a  waking  dream. 

The  May  evening  was  chilly  and  tht  logs  crackled  in 
the  stove  close  to  which  Mr.  Sabine  huddled.  Captain 
Loisons  claimed  the  attention  of  the  fireside  group  with 
the  latest  news  from  Quebec  of  the  illusive,  ever  prom- 
wed,  never  attained  railway  planned  to  join  the  Gaspe 
Peninsula  to  the  Intercolonial,  the  highroad  of  Eastern 
Canada. 

Esther,  basking  in  this  break  in  the  long  winter's  mo- 
notony, sat  in  one  corner  of  the  big,  shabby  sofa,  with  Jack 
near  enough  for  low-toned  converse.  It  was  she  who  did 
most  of  the  talking,  rippling  out  the  items  of  winter's 
news,  large  and  small  together,  knowing  that  they  were 
all  of  interest,  but  so  far  avoiding  the  one  name  Aat 

50 


FRIENDS 


she  felt  mattered  most.  There  was  a  mischievous  enjoy- 
ment in  her  sense  of  power.  At  last,  after  a  discreet  little 
pause  on  her  part,  he  spoke : 

"I  hear  you  were  across  at  the  cottage  to-day." 

"Yes,  Virginia  and  I  took  our  offerings.  I  hope  you 
liked  them." 

"They  were  splendid,"  he  said  with  conviction,  "though 
they  looked  most  too  pretty  to  touch.  They  had  only  one 
fault." 

"What  was  that  ?"  she  asked,  really  surprised. 

"That  you  hadn't  waited  a  bit  to  give  me  your  wel- 
come." 

"Oh,  we  couldn't  do  that.  Your  mother  had  to  have 
you  to  herself  at  first." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  agreed. 

Meeting  the  wistful  questioning  of  his  gaze,  she  re- 
lented. 

"We  watched  you  from  the  French  Bluff." 

His  eager  soul  flashed  to  his  eyes.  "You  .  .  .  and 
Virginia  ?"  he  asked  softly. 

"Yes." 

"Why  didn't  you  wave  ?" 

"Oh,  we  were  shy.  At  least,  I  wanted  to,  but  Virginia 
stopped  me.  She  said  she  knew  it  was  you  on  the  bridge 
with  Captain  Loisons. 

"Did  she?  .  .  .  Yes,  I  was  there,"  and  he  fell 
silent,  as  Esther  could  see,  hugging  the  thought  of  it  all, 
like  some  child's  new  beloved  toy. 

Presently  Mr.  Dorval  and  Jack  left  together.  They  sat 
for  long  on  the  former's  veranda,  overlooking  the  Basin 
and  the  lights  of  the  Chateauguay  down  at  the  wharf. 
The  difference  of  age  had  not  hindered  an  intimacy  be- 
tween the  two  men,  an  intimacy  cemented  by  camp-fire 
talks  in  the  frosty  October  nights  after  a  day's  moose  or 

SI 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

caribou  hunt  by  vigils  in  the  winter  dawn  when  far  out 
over  the  jce  they  sought  the  air-holes  where  the  wild  fowl 
gathered.  Now.  in  shelter  of  the  friendly  twilight,  for 
the  hours  of  real  darkness  are  few  at  this  season  in  the 
north,  and  in  the  communion  of  smoking,  the  old  sense 
of  comradeship  revived  and  Jack  spoke  in  snatches,  as 
the  spirit  moved  him,  of  his  year's  effort  and  failure. 
He  spoke  without  bitterness,  though  every  word  told  the 

Srv'"^"   f°*.l'''   '""^   °*    ""^"'^^"^    had  entered 
mto  his  soul.     After  a  pause  devoted  to  their  pipes, 
Dorval    put    a    question    that    had    been    much    in 
his   mind. 
"Have  you  thought  what  comes  next?" 
Jack  took  his  time  with  the  answer, 
'mat  else  have  I  thought  of  for  the  last  six  months? 
But  there  am  t  much  next  that  I  can  see  round     I  was 
counting  that  I  might  fit  in  somewhere  at  one  of  the 
mills,  and  went  to  the  York  Company's  office  in  Quebec. 
They  were  decent  enough  and  said  they'd  have  found  me 
a  job  If  their  timber-scalers  hadn't  been  already  engaged 
Mr.  Cross  came  down  in  the  boat,  and  promised  for  sure 
If  any  one  failed  them  at  the  Dartmouth  mills  he'd  re- 
member me." 

"And  meantime?" 

"Meantime,  I've  got  to  get  to  work  on  something  pretty 
smart,  for  I  ve  just  fifty  cents  in  my  pocket,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  hang  round  and  eat  poor  old  mother  out  of 
house  and  home,  though  she'd  like  nothing  better,  bless 
her.  And  I  ve  got  such  an  appetite,  too,"  he  added  rue- 
Paul  Dorval  had  the  name  of  being  careful  with  his 
tnoney.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  had  a  full  apprecia- 
tion of  Its  value,  perhaps  because  life  had  Uught  him  the 
long  slow  grind  of  its  attainment,  the  fact  that  its  pos- 
52 


FRIENDS 


session  often  stands  for  liberty  and  independence,  even 
for  self-respect.    For  all  that,  his  retort  was  prompt : 

"That's  nonsense.  Of  course,  I  expect  to  supply  you 
with  what  you  need  for  the  present,  until  you  get  on  your 
feet  again." 

Jack  made  a  deep  sound  in  his  throat  that  might  have 
been  a  grunt  or  a  chuckle. 

"Do  you  suppose,  though  I  don't  say  much,  I'm  fool 
enough  not  to  know  what  you've  spent  already  on  gettin' 
our  carcasses  out  of  that  wilderness  up  there?  I'll  come 
to  you  when  the  appetite  is  up  against  a  void— but  before 
that  I'll  find  some  kind  of  work,  somehow.  My  hands 
can't  have  lost  their  knack  of  making  a  Gaspe  canoe, 
anyway.  The  American  yachts  bound  for  the  North 
Shore  will  be  along  next  month,  and  they'll  want  as 
many  as  they  can  get.  Better  still,  why  shouldn't  I  go 
with  one  of  them  as  a  guide  or  a  guardian?  Some  of 
them  millionaires  would  take  me  fast  enough." 

Paul  could  not  be  sure  if  he  were  in  earnest  or  reck- 
lessly jesting  with  fate. 

"Of  course,  they  would,  and  glad  to  get  you — but  I 
think  you  can  do  better  than  that." 

"Forty-five  dollars  a  month  and  unumited  grub  sounds 
good  enough  to  me,  just  now.  Seriously,  a  three  months' 
job  like  that  might  fill  up  an  awkward  gpp  for  me.  But 
I  needn't  go  to  the  North  Shore,  if  there's  likely  to  be 
any  one  round  here  wanting  a  guardian  on  the  York  or 
St.  John.    You  haven't  heard,  have  you  ?" 

Now  the  trouble  was  that  Dorval  had  heard,  and  did 
not  wish  to  speak  out  and  thereby  encourage  this  freak. 
Thus  questioned,  though,  he  felt  that  he  had  no  choice. 

"Mr.  Holbeach  wrote  to  ask  me  to  find  a  man  to  go 
on  his  pools  beginning  next  week.  He  sails  for  Quebec 
with  a  friend  on  the  first  of  June." 

53 


lii 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

JL'?.°h  '*"=  "hadows,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
feeding  that  he  had  caused  a  sensation. 

be/oth^U"!" ^  *'  "*  """^  '"  ''^^^  ^-  »  —t 

ias;^a?:;:.r^fer  '^'^  ^p"-*-  ^'•^-'^  ~-  <>«' 

"No.   He  went  to  Norway  with  some  friends  " 
Apin  Jack  ruminated,  and  now  his  face  was  some- 
what gr,m  and  obstinate,  if  his  companion  could  have 
seen  it  clearly. 

"Well  next  to  you.  Mr.  Holbeach  has  right  along 
been  the  best  friend  I've  got.  There's  no  man  I'd  soon"? 
work  for  and  I'm  sure  he'd  have  no  objection  if  he  knew 
yourself  "  ^°"  ""  '^""^  "*  ""  *'*""'  disturbing 

th  Jn Tk"  °°"'"'  °''J""=*'*'-  "Y°"'"  do  better  than 
Sew  dfyT"         '"  "'^'  '  "'^''-    ^°"  ""  ^""'y  --^  ^ 

^J^'^'a  T1  ""•"^^  ^  '""'*•  ^'^"^  ^°t  '°  e^t  steadied 
down  and  find  my  bearmgs.  To  wake  up  in  the  same 
place  and  have  the  same  thing  to  do  every  day  would 
pull  me  together  sooner  than  anything.  You  don't  know 
the  gnnd  .t  was  on  body  and  soul  keeping  those  poor 
half-starved  wretches  up  to  work,"  he  broke  out  fierceW. 

There  re  mghts  when  I  go  through  it  all  over  again 
trampmg  on  hungry,  through  the  melting  snow,  trLp- 
mg,  trampmg,  wondering  if  we'd  ever  get  out  You 
know  we  only  just  managed  it  in  time  before  the  ice 
broke,  he  added  somberly.  Then  came  the  sudden 
peremptory  demand :  "Well,  are  you  going  to  give  me  the 
job,  or  must  I  wait  for  the  North  Shore  men  ?" 

Dorval  saw  that  it  was  no  use  to  oppose  further  his 
Rxed  Idea. 

"I  will,  if  you  are  determined.     But  nmemher,  ym 

S4 


FRIENDS 


are  making  yourself  Mr.  Holbeach's  paid  servant,  and 
may  find  it  uncomfortable." 

"I've  been  worse.  I've  been  slave-driver  to  blood- 
suckers who  fatten  on  honest  men's  lives,"  was  the  bit- 
ter retort.  "I  told  you  we  tried  to  get  our  rights  before 
we  broke  up.  Well,  I  went  to  one  of  those  men's  homes 
in  Montreal— a  great  white  marble  house,  mind  you,  a 
regular  palace  with  flowers  and  pictures  in  the  hall.  I 
didn't  get  further  than  that.  His  girls  were  having  a 
party.  No  sign  of  hard  times  there,  though  he  was  one 
of  the  gang  who  couldn't  or  wouldn't  pay  us  for  our 
year's  work,  for  our  deadly  toil  and  starvation."  He 
paused,  then  with  a  visible  effort  shook  off  the  shadow 
of  that  recent  past. 

^  "All  the  same,  I've  got  to  forget  the  whole  stoty,  if 
I'm  going  to  keep  my  head.  These  two  months  on  the 
river  will  just  give  me  the  rest  I  want,  along  with  a  bit 
of  money  to  start  again." 

For  a  moment  he  puffed  at  his  pipe.  Then  came  the 
short,  shy  laugh,  so  often  the  prelude  to  a  serious  con- 
fidence. 

"By  then  I  ought  to  be  ready  to  set  out  again  in  search 
of  my  fortune." 

Dorval  was  quick  to  scent  the  definite  hopefulness  of 
the  words  and  to  rejoice  in  it,  feeling  his  faith  justi- 
fied. 

"So  you've  got  another  card  up  your  sleeve  after  all  ?" 
lie  said  quietly. 

"Well,  yes—"  Jack  admitted,  half  reluctantly.  "That 
is— I've  got  to  keep  it  quiet,  but  it's  been  in  my  head  all 
along,  that  p'rhaps  it'll  be  something  to  make  up  to  you 
and  the  Tathems  for  what  you  did  for  us — " 

"Never  mind  that,"  Dorval  put  in.  "Tell  us  what  it  is. 
Have  yon  found  an  Eldorado?" 

•  55 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


m 


Jack's  voice  had  a  touch  of  awe  in  it. 
"By  God  I  I  believe  we  have !"  he  breathed  fervently. 
"You  see,  it's  this  way.  The  Company's  land  ain't  much 
good,  leastways,  the  timber's  there  all  right,  but  very 
little  of  it  is  near  enough  to  the  streams  or  en  hills  steep 
enough  for  a  slide.  It'd  take  a  fortune  to  get  it  out.  But 
on  our  way  comin'  back  we  made  a  bit  of  a  circle,  hoping 
to  strike  an  Injun  settlement— which  we  didn't— but  our 
way  took  us  through  a  queer,  God-forsaken  sort  of  a 
region— rocks,  an'  bushes,  an'  small  lakes— and  an  old 
miner  who  happened  to  have  come  along  with  us,  wanting 
to  see  a  bit  of  new  country  I  s'pose,  as  is  the  way  with 
them  men  as  'get  prospectin'  into  their  blood— you've 

known  them  ? " 

"Yes,"  Dorval  agreed,  recalling  many  a  tragedy  of 
lonely  life  and  death. 

"Well,  he  was  a  decent  chap,  an'  took  a  great  fancy 
to  me,  after  I  doctored  him  with  some  of  mother's  stuff 
for  a  sore  leg.  No  matter  how  dog-tired  an'  hungry  he 
was,  he  'most  always  manages  to  chip  oflf  a  few  bits  of 
rock  every  day.  Our  last  night  out  he  got  me  oflF  by 
ourselves  after  the  others  were  asleep  an'  shows  me  a 
pocketful. 

"  'There,'  he  says,  'I  haven't  learned  much  in  thirty 
years  a-chippin'  at  God's  rocks,  if  here  isn't  the  makin' 
of  another  Cobalt  or  Klondike,  an'  yet  p'rhaps  I  won't  be 
able  to  get  a  rich  man  to  take  a-holt  of  it.  They  have  to 
listen  to  such  a  sight  of  loonies  with  them  tales !' 

"Well,  we  talked  half  that  night,  an'  we  agreed  that 
soon  as  we'd  looked  'round  a  bit  and  got  together  a  few 
dollars  for  an  outfit,  we'd  go  back  there  together  to  try 
our  luck.   And  we'll  do  it,  too,"  he  ended. 
Dorval  had  listened  intently. 
"And  where  is  the  miner  now?"  he  asked. 

56 


FRIENDS 


"He  made  for  Cobalt.  We  went  along  together  as  far 
as  Montreal  when  I  was  after  those  blood-suckers." 

"Cobalt's  a  great  center  for  men  on  the  lookout  for 
such  chances.  What  if  he  gets  someone  to  take  the 
matter  up  and  leaves  you  out  in  the  cold?" 

"He  won't  do  that.  Old  Moses  is  a  white  man  all 
through.  We  agreed  that  we'd  both  keep  our  eyes  open 
for  any  one  likely  to  chip  in,  but  do  nothing  certain  with- 
out letting  the  other  know." 

"But  he  has  all  the  specimens?" 

"Yes,"  Jack  admitted,  conscious  of  his  weak  point,  but 
undaunted. 

"Does  he  drink?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  'T  any  rate,  he  didn't  get  on  a 
tear  when  we  reached  Quebec  like  some  of  them  did,  and 
if  ever  there  was  a  time  when  a  man  might " 

"Exactly  so.  If  he  didn't  then,  it  doesn't  seem  as 
though  he  ever  would.    Still,  he  might." 

"That's  so." 

Both  men  had  seen  enough  of  "the  legion  that  never 
was  listed"  to  realize  the  infinite  improbabilities  of  its 
vagaries. 

"And  when  you  spoke  of  repaying  the  Tathems  and 
me  did  you  mean  by  offering  us  a  share  in  the  ven- 
ture?" 

Jack  made  an  impulsive  movement. 

"Not  before  I  had  been  back  there  again,  and  could 
say  it  was  a  sure  thing.  To  ask  you  for  more  would  be 
a  queer  way  to  pay  you  what  I  owe  you,  Mr.  Dorval," 
he  protested,  a  hurt  sound  in  his  voice. 

"It  wouldn't  be  queer  to  offer  to  do  the  hard  work 
that  might  bring  me  in  a  big  return.  I'd  be  willing  to 
risk  it  on  your  word,  Jack,"  was  the  kindly  answer.  "But 
you're  tired  now,  or  you  ought  to  be,  and  there's  ptety 

57 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


of  time  to  talk  this  over.  It  may  be  a  big  thing,  you 
know." 

"It  will  be,  if  only  I'm  strong  enough  to  handle  it.  But, 
as  you  say,  I'd  better  be  getting  home  now.  Mother  will 
be  restless." 

He  rose  and  stood  to  fill  his  last  pipe. 

"It's  silver,  I  suppose?"  Dorval  asked. 

"Silver,  an'  copper  an'  aluminium,  an'  he  thinks  it's 
more'n  likely  there's  gold  'round  somewhere." 

"Jove  I" 

"An'  it's  settled  I'm  to  be  guardian?" 

The  question  was  simple,  but  Dorval  laughed  outright : 

"Get  along  with  you  for  an  obstinate  beggar!  Yes, 
if  you  want  it." 

"I  do.  That's  all  right.  Well,  I  guess  Til  go  an'  try 
what  it  feels  like  to  sleep  in  my  own  bed.    Good-night." 

Dorval  sat  listening  to  the  sound  of  Jack's  measured 
step  on  the  board  side-walk  and  meditating  many  things. 

"It  might  be  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  Ill  see  what 
Holbeach  says  to  it,"  he  decided. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  BLUFF  HOUSE 


THE  Bluff  House,  as  Virginia  Holbeach's  home 
was  called,  stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  in  a 
green  bit  of  meadow  around  which  the  forest 
crowded.  On  one  side  it.<>  orchard  adjoined 
the  last  fields  of  the  settlement,  but  above  it  on  the  slope 
of  "the  mountain"  and  across  the  road  toward  the  bay, 
stretched  the  thick  woods  that  Mr.  Holbeach  owned  and 
had  beautified  by  clearing  away  the  dead  wood  and  chok- 
ing underbrush  that  hindered  the  full  development  of 
the  nobler  sylvan  growth.  The  house  was  on  the  usual 
model  of  the  better  sort  of  French-Canadian  farmhouse, 
a  model  not  unlike  that  of  a  Swiss  chalet.  There  was 
the  same  overhanging  roof,  the  broad  veranda,  and  out- 
side stairs. 

The  lower  story  of  the  house  was  of  rough  gray  stone, 
the  upper  of  wood  painted  yellow,  and  with  the  bright 
red  roof  it  formed  a  cheerful  bit  of  color  against  the 
somber  evergreens.  On  this  perfect  May  morning  the 
breath  of  the  balsam  firs  was  strong  in  the  air,  lending  a 
languorous  softness  to  the  crisp  chill,  a  message  from 
the  outer  sea.  There  was  glad  young  life  in  everything, 
in  the  scent  of  growing  grass  and  fresh  damp  earth,  in 
the  arcnnatic  twang  that  came  from  the  waxy  brown  buds 
of  the  tall,  old  cotton  poplar  near  the  steps. 

Virginia  stood  at  the  open  French  window  of  the 
breakfast-room  and  sniffed  in  these  various  messages  of 

59 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


spring  as  might  a  young  pointer.  She  looked  lilce  a 
cardinal-bird  in  her  red  golfing  jersey  and  short  serge 
sldrt,  and  Miss  Creighton,  a  dark,  wistful-eyed,  ugly 
little  woman,  sitting  at  the  writing-table  before  a  litter  of 
open  letters,  watched  her  with  a  vicarious  enjoyment  of 
her  bright  young  vitality.  Not  that  Miss  Creighton  did 
not  enjoy  life  on  her  own  account.  Luckily  for  Virginia, 
who  had  been  left  so  completely  in  her  hands,  she  was 
not  the  old-fashioned  type  of  self-suppressing  woman, 
but,  while  giving  the  girl  a  kindly  care,  she  had  steadily 
and  cheerfully  pursued  her  own  occupations  thereby 
•voiding  that  limpet-like  devotion  against  which,  sooner 
or  later,  the  youriger  generation  instinctively  rebels.  Make 
a  weak  claim  on  youth  for  sympathy,  you  alienate  it; 
show  it  that  you  are  self-sufficing,  that  solitude  has  no 
fears  for  you,  and  it  respects  you. 

Still,  it  might  have  been  better  for  them  both  if  Miss 
Creighton  could  have  managed  to  show  enough  of  the 
deep  affection  she  felt  for  the  girl  she  had  cared  for  ever 
since  she  could  walk,  to  give  a  more  expansive  touch  to 
Virginia's  character.  As  it  was,  a  mutual  reserve  al- 
ways spread  between  their  peacefully  friendly  relations. 
A  plain  woman  is  nearly  always  a  self-contained  one, 
that  is  if  she  has  any  pride,  and  Virginia,  having  the 
reticence  caused  by  a  solitary  childhood,  the  two,  though 
occupying  almost  the  mutual  position  of  mother  and 
daughter,  were  never  fused  into  that  closest  intimacy  of 
word  and  deed,  which  is  not  unusual  in  such  relations. 

Conscious  of  the  gap.  Miss  Creighton  shed  many  a 
secret  tear  over  what  she  thought  her  own  failure  to  win 
her  charge's  confidence,  though  in  less  morbid  moments, . 
her  own  good  sense  told  her  that,  either  from  circum- 
stance or  type,  Virginia  was  one  of  those  single-natured, 
late-developed  girls  who  need  the  touch  of  their  first 
60 


THE   BLUFF  HOUSE 


passion  to  stir  them  into  expansiveness.  Meantime,  their 
relations  were  of  the  pleasantest,  neither  making  too 
great  demands  upon  the  other,  each  going  her  own  way, 
yet  content  in  their  companionship. 

When  a  child,  Virginia  had  taken  into  her  head  an 
idea  that  Miss  Creighton  was  her  godmother,  and  at 
the  Montreal  convent  school,  which  she  attended  for  a 
few  winters,  had  learnt  from  the  French  girls  to  call 
her  "Marraine." 

There  was  more  than  one  point  of  her  history  where 
the  forl's  imagination  had  filled  in  a  blank,  Miss  Creigh- 
ton acquiescing.  It  was  thus  that  she  called  her  now 
from  the  doorway,  in  her  clear  young  voice : 

"Look,  what  a  day  of  days  it  is,  Marraine,  and  come 
down  through  the  woods.  I'm  going  to  the  landing  to 
see  if  they've  got  the  boat-house  in  order,  and  to  give 
the  dogs  a  run.    Don't  they  know  it  too !" 

Czar,  the  black-and-white  setter,  was  sitting  upright, 
slowly  waving  his  bushy  tail,  his  dark  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  with  the  patient  intensity  of  the  trained  dog.  At  the 
head  of  the  steps  a  wiry-haired  fox-terrier  was  whimper- 
ing and  making  little  tentative  runs  to  attract  her  atten- 
tion. 

Had  Virginia  bethought  herself  that  the  boat-house 
landing  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff  was  a  point  of  vantage 
commanding  a  view  of  the  ferry  and  of  a  certain  track 
by  which  any  craft  must  come  or  go  to  a  certain  little 
pink  cottage? 

Miss  Creighton  looked  from  the  tempting  outdoor 
prospect  down  to  the  budget  before  her  and  shook  her 
head. 

"I  can't  come  out  yet  awhile,  dear  child;  I  have  my 
morning's  work  cut  out.  I  must  decide  which  of  these 
chintzes  will  do  for  the  drawing-room  and  which  for  the 
6l 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


•pare  room.    My  orders  must  go  to-day,  if  we  want  to 
nuke  ourseivet  smart  for  your  father  and  his  guest." 

Virginia  had  stood  poised  for  motion  like  the  great 
Artemis  of  the  Louvre,  but  at  these  words  the  energy 
passed  from  her  figure  and  she  turned  to  face  her  friend 
with  an  uneasy  questk>ning  in  her  eyes. 

"My  cousin,  my  father  calls  him.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  Giles  Holbeach  before,  Marraine?" 

For  all  the  cheerful  serenity  of  the  glance  that  met 
Virginia's,  it  carried  a  curious  suggestion  of  being  on 
guard. 

"If  I  havf,  I  certainly  don't  remember  it,  but  you 
know  what  a  wretched  memory  mine  is." 

Miss  Creighton's  memory  had  long  been  a  convenient 
fallacy  of  hers  when  Virginia  took  to  questions,  and  per- 
haps the  girl  had  detected  her  subterfuge,  though  her 
laug^  was  pleasant  as  she  retorted : 

"I  know  that  you  say  it  is,  though  you  can  repeat 
the  name  of  every  flower  in  the  woods." 

"That's  my  hobby,  my  dear,  and  hobbies  are  the  ir- 
regular verbs  of  life,  ungovemed  of  rules,"  Miss  Creigh- 
ton  made  unabashed  answer.  Then,  reverting  to  practical 
matters:  "But  before  you  go,  tell  me  if  you  finished 
your  order  for  Madame  St.  Maudez  and  if  you  like  the 
blue  and  white  chintz  for  the  drawing-room?" 

"The  order  for  my  new  finery  is  all  ready  on  my  table. 
As  for  the  chintz,  it's  just  as  you  like.    I  really  don't 
care" 
"But  you  must  learn  to  care." 

"Oh,  on  a  dark  winter  day,  I  consider  the  drawing- 
room  sofas  the  most  important  question  in  life,  but  this 
morning,  with  the  sun  shining,  and  the  dogs  dying  to 

be  off,  and  with  your  wise  head  to  settle  it " 

"You  won't  always  have  my  wise  head " 

6a 


THE   BLUFF  HOUSE 


"I  shall  as  long  as  I  can.  By-bye  I  Come  Beau  —come 
Ctar,"  and  with  a  scampering  of  padded  feet  and  a  glad 
yap  or  two  she  and  her  followers  were  off. 

Down  the  steep  meadow  path  they  went,  across  the 
road  and  into  the  dappled  light  and  '<.''■  of  the  woods. 
Though  the  hardwood  trees  were  still  ;>•:■  If  «s,  th  ■  ir^iples 
already  wore  their  red  tassels,  the  .is;  •:  >  wr  c  ^'.:rred 
with  gray  velvet  buds,  and  the  v  r  chorri.  sli  iwtJ  rpi 
of  vivid  green  that  turned  to  i>al..  'ul<i  i.i  tp.  .in!-  ne. 
The  path  wound  through  thic!  ets  oi  bm^bi't  ii.es, 
on  which  the  red  leaf  buds  gldw'J  lil;<.  i.'v,  b-rrits,  and 
by  great  patches  of  soft  green  nios- ,  >uv  niirfjled  \\;ith 
the  rough,  winter-battered  mayflowtr  le-ivis  ;ii  .i  failed 
to  conceal  the  fragrant  pink  blossoms. 

Virginia  passed  these  latter  by  as  intimate  friends,  too 
precious  to  gather,  and  followed  the  dogs  out  to  the 
edge  of  the  bluff  where  the  trees  clung,  one  or  two 
slipping  over  the  brink  to  join  those  that  here  and  there 
scaled  the  sheer  bank.  Pausing  a  moment  to  glance  over 
the  wide  expanse  of  the  outer  bay  where  the  sea  breeze 
was  already  ruffling  the  surface  and  bringing  in  a  line  of 
brown-sailed  fishing-boats,  Virginia  turned  to  the  rough 
stairs  of  unpainted  wood  leading  down  to  the  big  boat- 
house,  built  just  out  of  reach  of  the  winter's  great  ice- 
cakes  that  would  have  crashed  building  and  boats  to 
atoms. 

The  dogs  had  rushed  ahead  in  canine  fashion  and  now 
from  the  beach  below  came  an  ecstatic  baying  in  the 
setter's  deeper  note.  At  the  sound,  a  responsive  thrill 
came  into  Virginia's  eyes  and  she  quickened  her  steps. 
Yes,  the  men  were  at  work,  for  the  boat-house  doors  were 
open,  and  one  or  two  of  the  light  wooden  craft  called 
all  along  the  Gulf  coasts  "Gaspe  canoes"  were  laid  out  on 
the  sand. 

63 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


The  light  went  out  from  the  girl's  face  as  she  saw 
that  the  setter  was  fawning  on  a  man  who  with  his  back 
tamed  was  kneeling  by  one  of  the  canoes,  a  big  man  in 
faded  blue  jersey  and  high  boots,  with  a  soft  felt  hat 
crushed  back  on  his  head.  Never  had  she  seen  the  lordly 
Czar  condescend  to  such  eflfusiveness  with  Mallock,  the 
boatman,  and  yet  no  one  save  Mallock  could  be  at  work 
there,  she  assured  herself.  Her  sandalled  feet  were  on 
the  soft  sand  and  she  was  close  beside  him  before  the 
man,  becoming  aware  of  her  presence,  sprang  up  and 
turned,  and  she  found  herself  looking  into  Jack  LeRoy's 
deep  blue  eyps  and  weather-beaten  face.  That  face  was 
graver  and  thinner  than  she  had  seen  it  last,  but  the  old 
slow  smile  transfigured  it  as  she  looked. 
"Jack  I"  she  said  with  outstretched  hand. 
"Virginia  I  I  beg  pardon— Miss  Holbeach!"  and  the 
red  deepened  in  his  face. 

Virginia,  her  hand  in  his  grasp,  stared,  and  then 
laughed  out:  "Miss  Holbeach!  Whatever  is  that  for?" 
she  demanded  blithely. 

"It  seems  queer,  of  course,  but  I've  got  to  learn  it 
sooner  or  later,"  he  asserted. 

"There  is  no  need  ever  to  learn  bad  habits.  Look  at 
Czar,  he  doesn't  greet  you  with  any  unpleasant  new 
tricks,"  and  ,~he  put  up  her  chin  in  a  disapproving 
fashion. 

"No,  dogs  are  faithful  creatures,"  he  agreed,  letting 
one  hand  fall  to  Czar's  reach,  who  proceeded  to  lick  it 
rapturously. 
"And  aren't  friends  faithful,  too?"  she  demanded. 
Jack  looked  hungrily  into  the  face  that  had  through 
so  many  weary  days  been  the  desire  of  his  eyes,  and 
answered  humbly:  "Some  are,  I've  good  reason  to 
know." 

64 


THE    BLUFF   HOUSE 


The  look,  more  than  the  words,  checked  Virginia's 
spirit  of  investigation,  and  set  her  seeking  a  change  of 
subject: 

"Whatever  are  you  doing  with  our  canoes?  Have  you 
taken  to  burglary  ?" 

It  was  a  crucial  moment  for  Jack,  but  he  faced  it 
steadily. 

"Last  night,  Mr.  Dorval  gave  me  the  job  of  guardian 
on  your  father's  pools,  and  I  was  havm'  a  look  at  the 
canoes  to  see  what  mending  they  needed.  Now,  perhaps, 
you  see  why  I  called  you  Miss  Holbeach,"  he  said  almost 
sternly,  as  though  challenging  any  display  of  sympathy. 

Tears  sprang  suddenly  to  her  eyes,  and  she  flushed  and 
paled.  "No,  I  don't  see  anything  except  that  you  are 
unkind,"  she  panted.  "If  that  were  going  to  make  all 
the  difference,  you  shouldn't  have  taken  it." 

His  face  waxed  grimmer  under  her  words.  "All  right, 
I'll  go  right  off  and  give  it  up,  if  you  mind,"  he  said. 

"And  what  will  you  do?"  she  asked  like  a  curious 
child. 

"I  guess  I'll  try  for  a  chance  of  getting  the  same 
work  on  the  North  Shore  somewhere,  wherever  they'll 
take  me." 

"Oh,  Jack,  why  should  I  mind?"  she  protested.  Then 
with  a  pleading  smile  through  her  tears:  "Here  we  are 
squabbHng  over  nothing,  when  you  are  just  back  safe 
from  all  those  hardships,  and  I  haven't  even  told  you 
how  glad  I  am  you're  home  again." 

"Are  you  ?"  he  asked  simply. 

"Of  course  I  am.  We  were  so  proud  of  you  when  we 
saw  in  the  paper  what  you  had  done.  They  sa.r.,  but 
for  you,  hardly  a  man  would  ever  have  got  out  of  the 
woods." 

If  her  words  were  sweet  to  him,  he  grave  no  .sign. 

6i 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

"There  wasn't  much  to  be  proud  of,  I'm  afraid.  Even 
a  dog  will  half  kill  himself  to  find  his  way  home.  And 
talking  of  dogs,  I've  got  to  thank  you  for  taking  such 
good  care  of  Czar.  He's  in  splendid  condition."  And  he 
bent  and  smoothed  down  the  creature's  silky  black-and- 
white  coat. 

"Oh,  we've  grown  to  be  great  chums,  Czar  and  I.  I 
shall  miss  him." 

He  looked  up  with  a  sudden  idea.  "Wouldn't  you 
like  to  keep  him?" 

Virginia's  smile  told  that  she  knew  the  value  of  the 
offer,  but  she  shook  her  head.  "He  wouldn't  stay  with 
me  for  a  day  when  you  were  about.  But,  tell  me,  are  you 
really  going  up  to  the  camp  ?" 

"Yes,  next  week,"  he  announced  cheerfully.  Save  for 
her  view  of  it,  there  was  nothing  but  pleasure  to  him  in 
the  thought. 

The  under-current  of  tragedy  seemed  to  have  passed 
them  by,  and  she  made  gleeful  answer : 

"What  fun  I  Esther  and  I  will  come  up  and  have  a  day's 
trout  fishing  just  like  in  old  times."  Then,  a  fresh,  glor- 
ious thought  dawning  in  her  eyes:  "Oh,  why  not  go 
somewhere  to-day  with  the  rods  ?  It's  early,  and  we  have 
lots  of  time  to  pole  up  to  the  Dartmouth.  Louis  Perrin 
would  let  us  fish  in  Mr.  Lethbridge's  water,  wouldn't 
he?" 

"For  sure,  but "    Jack  hesitated.    He  longed  as  he 

had  never  longed  for  anything  before,  for  this  one  un- 
interrupted day  with  her  on  the  old  familiar  footing,  but 
he  felt  that  she  was  proposing  it  as  any  child  might  seek 
a  bit  of  pleasure,  and,  conscience  warning  him  on  several 
ixjints,  he  tried  to  resist. 

"There's  my  work,  you  see.  Those  canoes  must  be  got 
in  hand  pretty  soon." 

66 


THE    BLUFF   HOUSE 


"They  won't  be  wanted  for  three  weeks,"  she  said,  as 
well  up  in  her  river  dates  as  he. 

"And  if  they  haven't  been  in  the  water  yet,  any  one  of 
them  would  leak  like  a  sieve,"  he  urged. 

"So  it  would,  but  my  own  canoe  is  well  soaked,  as 
you'll  see  if  you  look  in  there  behind  the  door,"  she 
triumphed.  Then  as  he  still  hesitated:  "I  thought  you 
would  want  to  come,"  she  reproached  him. 

"You  know  I  do,"  he  said  deeply. 

"Well,  then,"  she  hurried  on,  "I'll  run  up  to  the  house 
for  some  lunch  and  my  big  coat,  and  two  rods " 

"You  can't  carry  all  that,"  he  interrupted.  "You'd 
better  let  me  go." 

"But  you'd  have  to  .stay  for  ever  so  long  talking  to 
Miss  Creighton,  and  that  would  make  us  so  late.  You 
can  wait  at  the  stile.  I'll  get  the  things  that  far,"  she 
insisted,  and  he  acquiesced. 

They  had  so  often,  boy  and  girl,  ransacked  the  lar- 
der and  taken  to  the  woods,  that  to  her  the  whole  thing 
might  have  been  merely  the  resumption  of  an  enjoyable 
habit  reluctantly  laid  aside.  If  to  him  it  meant  far  more, 
he  was  careful  to  give  no  sign  of  it. 

"Going  to  the  Dartmouth  with  Jack  LeRoy?"  Miss 
Creighton  said,  as  Virginia  made  an  excited  raid  on  the 
kitchen,  where  she  was  interviewing  the  cook.  "My  dear 
child,  c'on't  you  think  it's  a  little  early  for  that  kind  of 
thing?" 

If  this  question  were  double-edged,  the  girl  only  no- 
ticed the  most  evident  side  of  it. 

"Too  early?  Oh,  no,  there  have  been  trout  caught  a 
week  ago,  and  I'll  take  my  great  big  blanket-coat  with 
me  in  case  it  comes  up  cold." 

Miss  Creighton  studied  her  face  reflectively,  and,  seem- 
ing satisfied  with  what  she  saw,  made  no  further  protest. 
67 


CHAPTER  VIII 


1^  I 

III 


A  DAY'S  FISHING 

STANDING  erect,  lightly  balanced  in  the  canoe, 
his  long  pole  in  one  hand,  wind  and  sun  on  his 
bare   head,   with   its   thick   crop  of  close-cut 
yellow  hair.  Jack  LeRoy  had,  in  spite  of  his 
faded  jersey,'  the  viking  look  that  came  to  him  from  his 
Norman  forefathers. 

"Come,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to  Virginia, 
who  stood  on  the  lowest  step. 

She  needed  no  help  to  drop  into  a  canoe  light  as  a 
homing  dove,  but  now  her  hand  fluttered  in  his  as  she 
settled  herself  on  the  cushion  opposite  Czar,  who  had 
already  taken  his  sedate  place.  It  was  hard  on  Jack 
that,  poling  in  the  stern,  her  back  should  be  turned  to 
him,  but,  when  he  had  been  so  long  starved  for  a  sight 
of  her,  it  still  seemed  almost  joy  enough  to  watch  the 
curve  of  her  cheek,  the  loose  dark  hair  under  her  red  cap, 
her  one  bare  hand  resting  lightly  on  the  canoe's  rim. 

They  kept  along  close  under  the  shadow  of  the  Bluff 
over  the  clear  brown  flats,  on  past  the  big  lumber  mills, 
newly  awakened  to  work,  up  toward  the  head  of  the 
Bay  and  the  dark  hills  that  embosom  the  winding  Dart- 
mouth, They  did  not  talk  much.  He  felt  that  any  words 
would  have  stirred  the  spell  of  content  which  her  mere 
presence  wove  around  him,  and  she  basked  in  the  sense 
of  his  strength  and  skill  watching  over  her,  as  she  basked 
in  the  morning  sunshine. 

68 


A   DAY'S  FISHING 


All  her  life  she  had  had  no  one  who  belonged  to  her 
save  only  Miss  Creighton,  no  one  save  Jack,  who,  even  as 
a  freckled,  pugnacious  small  boy,  had  always  been  her 
humble  slave  and  follower.  Now  she  had  him  back,  and 
she  knew  in  the  depths  of  her  tenacious  spirit  that  she 
did  not  mean  to  part  with  him  in  a  hurry. 

They  had  a  good  way  to  go  before  they  had  reached 
the  head  of  the  Bay,  but  Jack  poled  on  steadily,  even 
when  he  met  the  fierce  river  current.  In  a  brown  back- 
water formed  by  a  great  barrier  of  interwoven  timber, 
dead  gray  roots  of  giant  trees  upstretched  octopus-like, 
the  forest  gloom  on  either  bank,  the  river  murmur  the 
only  sound,  they  fished. 

"Look  at  those  dear,  soft  gray  clouds !  Everyf^ing  is 
just  right  to-day!"  Virginia  said  with  a  wise  g'  ce  at 
the  sky. 

So  right  it  was,  that  a  string  of  speckled  victims  was 
ready  for  their  dinner  hour.  There  was  no  bare  shingle 
on  which  to  build  a  fire,  the  river  was  still  too  high  for 
that,  but  Jack  had  spotted  a  flat  rock  on  their  way  up, 
and  to  this  they  dropped  down.  They  were  both  too  well 
used  to  the  law  of  these  groat  lumber  regions  to  dream 
of  careless  fires. 

Jack  felt  that  the  hour  of  his  full  compensation  had  come 
when,  the  fish  broiled,  tea  made  in  the  blackened  kettle 
that  had  seen  so  many  feasts,  sandwiches  and  hard- 
boiled  eggs,  spread  out  before  them  on  tiny  birch-bark 
platters,  he  could  sit  opposite  Virginia  and  hear  her  talk. 

"I  must  get  my  week  up  at  the  camp  early  this  year. 
What  a  splendid  time  we'll  have,"  she  said  in  gleeful  an- 
ticipation. 

"I'll  mostly  be  on  duty,  patrolling  the  river  or  else 
down  at  my  hut,  so  I'll  scarcely  get  more  than  a  sight  of 
you,"  Jack  said  rather  dismally. 
69 


MARCUS   HCM^BEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


"Oh,  of  course,  I'd  ask  father  to  let  you  take  me  in  the 
canoe,"  she  consoled  him. 

"No,  please,  you  mustn't  do  that,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?" 

"Don't  you  see,  I've  got  to  do  the  work  I've  under- 
taken, just  like  any  stranger  would?  I'd  hate  to  have 
your  father  think  I  was  trying  to  hang  'round  and  shirk 
things " 

Virginia  saw  his  face  set  in  the  fashion  it  had  taken 
years  ago  when  she  had  cut  a  fish-hook  out  of  his  hand, 
and  caught  a  pained  echo  in  his  voice.  Determined  to 
drive  the  shadow  away,  and  hardly  realizing  its  full  som- 
bemess,  she  protested  cheerfully : 

"Don't  be  a  goose,  Jack.  Father  would  never  think 
such  unpleasant  thii^s."  Then,  to  effect  a  diversion: 
"Did  I  tell  you  about  Ae  new  cousin  who  is  coming  ?" 

The  diversion  seemed  effectual. 

"A  cousin  of  yours  ?"  Jack  demanded,  pausing  from  his 
task  of  filling  her  cup  from  the  kettle. 

"Yes,  though  I  never  heard  a  word  about  him  before. 
It  sometimes  seems  queer,  how  little  I  know  about  my 
father  or  my  own  family,  doesn't  it?  I  suppose  if  my 
mother  had  lived  it  would  have  been  difiFercnt,"  she  added 
wistfully. 

"I  dare  say.  Men  don't  mostly  care  much  for  talking 
about  things  past  and  gone,"  Jack  answered  in  all  good 
faith. 

Like  most  of  the  younger  generation  around  Lanse 
Louise,  he  looked  on  Mr.  Holbeach  as  a  respectable 
widower  with  large  business  interests,  probably  in  fish  or 
lumber,  in  England.  The  local  idea  of  wealth  was  con- 
centrated in  fish  or  lumber.  If  the  older  ones,  like  Dor- 
val  and  Mrs.  Sabine,  were  in  possession  of  different  the- 
ories or  facts  they  kept  them  to  themselves  for  the  sake 


70 


A   DAY'S  FISHING 


of  the  girl  they  had  seen  grow  up  among  them.  There 
is  more  kindness  than  we  think  for  in  the  world. 

But  it  was  not  her  father  that  now  occupied  his 
thoughts. 

"But  this  cotuin,  where  docs  he  hail  from — England?" 
he  demanded. 

"If  he  saUs  widi  father  he  must." 

"And  what's  he  comii^  here  for?" 

"Goodness  gracious,  don't  scowl  so  I  How  do  I  know  ? 
To  catch  salmon,  I  suppose,  as  everyone  else  does." 

"A  fat  lot  he'll  catch  when  he's  never  set  foot  in  the 
country  before.  He'll  be  much  the  same  as  those  navy 
officers  who  came  here  in  the  Bulldog — do  you  remem- 
ber?" 

Yes,  Virginia  remembered  that  historic  episode,  though 
her  short  skirts  and  pigtail  had  prevented  any  personal 
interest  in  it.  An  instinct  of  fairness  made  her  now  pro- 
test: 

"But,  Jack,  I  think  some  Englishmen  must  know  how 
to  fish,  for  I've  heard  father  talking  about  the  Scotch 
rivers,  and  last  year  he  went  to  Norway  fishing  with  Eng- 
lish people  in  a  yacht.  Perhaps  this  cousin  Giles  was 
with  him  then,  and  may  know  something  about  it.  At 
any  rate,  I  hope  so." 

In  Virginia's  eyes,  a  relation  who  could  not  catch  a 
salmon  would  have  been  a  personal  disgrace. 

"I  dare  say,"  Jack  assented  gloomily,  as  though  the 
prospect  were  not  altogether  satisfactory.  "It  is  easy 
enough  for  rich  people  to  learn  to  do  anything  they 
choose,  and  I  suppose  he  is  rich  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  carelessly,  never  guess- 
ing the  importance  her  companion's  sore  heart  attached 
to  the  fact. 

"I  wonder  if  there's  any  chance  of  your  father  taking 

•  71 


IW 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

you  back  with  him  in  the  fall,"  he  went  on,  turning  the 
knife  in  his  wound. 

"To  England?  Why  on  earth  should  he?"  Virginia 
a«ked  in  astonishment. 

A  fine  instinct  seemed  to  warn  Jack  that  he  might  be 
venturing  on  topic  "lat  would  wound  her,  for  he  made 
somewhat  tame  a 

"Well,  it  seeit  'locural  he  must  want  to  have  you  with 
him." 

Virginia  shook  her  head  in  philosophic  conviction.  "I 
don't  think  he  ever  wants  me,  especially.  I  always  used 
to  feel  that  I  bored  him." 

But  Jack  could  not  take  this  view  of  it. 

"That  was  when  you  were  a  youngster.  Lots  of  men 
don't  like  children  'round,  and  you  were  a  child  two  years 
ago,  when  he  was  last  here.  But  now — when  he  sees 
you "  and  he  paused  expressively. 

If  she  understood  his  meaning,  she  ignored  it,  saying 
soberly : 

"It  will  bf  much  the  same,  I  expect.  We  never  did 
seem  to  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  each  other,  though  he 
is  always  as  kind  as  can  be,  and  brings  me  all  sorts  of 
pretty  presents.  So  if  he  ever  speaks  of  taking  me  away 
from  here  I  shall  just  tell  him  that  I  don't  want  to  go," 
she  ended  with  cheerful  decision. 

"I  wonder  how  he  came  to  leave  you  here,"  Jack  spec- 
ulated. 

"Miss  Creighton  told  me  I  was  such  a  delicate  child 
that  the  doctor  said  I  needed  an  outdoor  life  in  the  most 
bracing  air,  and  that  this  place  just  suited  me.  Fancy 
me  delicate,  when  I  never  remember  having  an  ache  or 
a  pain,"  she  cried,  springing  lightly  to  her  feet,  her  slim 
red  form  outlined  against  the  forest  backg^round. 

"What  a  clean  sweep  we've  made  of  it !"  she  said,  con- 
72 


A   DAY'S   FISHING 


templating  the  few  remnants  of  their  sylvai  i  feast.  "Con- 
fess that  you  haven't  had  such  a  jolly  mt  )1  for  ever  so 
long." 

Jack  was  leaning  back  on  one  elbow,  h's  pipe  in  his 
hand,  an  utter  content  softening  his  face.  "Not  since  the 
last  time  we  were  out  together,"  he  said  reflectively. 

"When  was  that?"  she  asked  with  a  little  startled 
movement  of  her  head,  as  she  looked  down  at  him. 

The  blue  e>  -  met  hers  with  sudden  fire.  "The  day 
we  snow-shoed  to  St.  Marjorique,"  he  said 

With  a  quick  flash  of  memory  she  saw  it  all.  The  sun- 
lit forest  space  with  the  great  drifts  piled  among  the  trees, 
the  firp  built  on  green  wood,  the  broiling  steak,  the  tin 
of  cocoa,  Czar  lying  as  now,  close  beside  his  master. 
She  recalled  the  shadow  of  coming  separation  that  fell 
over  them  as  they  watched  their  last  fire  die  down.  It 
was  then  that  she  had  given  Jack  the  tobacco  pouch 
worked  in  dyed  moosehair  by  Christy  Anne,  the  old 
chief's  wife  at  the  Indian  reservation — worked  with  a 
fineness  and  an  archaic  art  such  as  is  rapidly  becoming 
obsolete.  That  same  pooch,  dimmed  from  its  first  bright- 
ness, was  now  in  Jack's  hands. 

"You  have  it  still,"  she  said  with  apparent  irrelevancy. 

His  thoughts  had  followed  hers,  as  those  of  time-tried 
comrades  have  a  way  of  doing. 

"Yes,  it's  been  with  me  right  through.  Once,  just 
once,  I  left  it  behind  in  camp.  That  night  I  went  back 
for  it.  It  was  moonlight,  but  the  men  thought  me  a  bit 
crazy,"  he  said,  turning  the  thing  over  on  h'i  broad  palm 
and  staring  at  it. 

"I  don't  wonder.  How  could  you  ?  I  could  easily  have 
given  you  another,"  she  breathed  softly. 

Jack  gave  one  of  those  short  laughs  that  hide  feeling. 

"You  wouldn't  have  found  it  so  easy  to  get  at  me  just 


73 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


then.  Besides,  no  other  would  nave  been  the  same,  even 
if  I'd  felt  sure  that  night  of  ever  seeing  you  again.  I 
knew  my  luck  would  be  gone  if  I  lost  it,  for  luck  is  just 
pluck,  and  the  loss  of  it  would  have  taken  my  pluck." 

"Oh,  no,  it  wouldn't."  Then,  with  a  sudden  change  to 
briskness:  "Come,  don't  be  lazy.  It  will  soon  be  the  best 
fishing  time,  and  we  must  take  something  home  to  Miss 
Creighton." 

In  the  mellow  afternoon  light  they  dropped  down 
stream,  the  swollen  river  taking  all  Jack's  skill  to  pilot 
the  canoe  among  the  snags  and  rocks.  But  there  were 
quiet  pools  where  they  loitered  to  fish  in  contented 
silence,  and  where  Jack  had  leisure  to  watch  her  as  she 
lightly  swung  her  rod,  perched  on  a  steady  log. 

Wind  and  tide  took  them  without  much  effort  down  the 
"Southeast,"  as  the  head  of  the  Bay  was  called,  and  the 
sun  was  still  shining,  though  the  landing  was  gray  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Bluff,  when  the  canoe  drew  in  to  it 
Virginia  had  stepped  out  and  stood  looking  down  at  Jack, 
who  was  about  to  paddle  across  the  Basin  to  his  home. 
Czar  was  still  sitting  erect,  watching  her  uneasily,  but 
making  no  movement  to  follow  her. 
"Czar  is  going  to  stay  with  you,"  she  said. 

"Not  if  you  want  him.    Go,  Czar "  he  said. 

The  dog  whined  and  rose,  still  looking  with  pleading 
eyes  at  his  master. 

"Oh,  no,  indeed.  1  couldn't  have  him  here  if  father 
brought  any  dogs,  you  know.  I'll  see  him  often  with 
you." 

"Will  you?"  he  wondered,  as  he  sat,  paddle  at  rest, 
watching  her  climb  the  steps  to  the  top  of  the  Bluff. 

"Many  more  days  like  this,  and  I'd  make  a  fool  of  my- 
self.   Well,  anyway,  I've  scored  that  much  against  Fate," 
and  he  turned  the  canoe's  prow  toward  the  other  shore. 
74 


CHAPTER  IX 


OFF  CASPi 


ON  a  day  in  early  June  the  steamship  Canada 
was  plowing  her  way  up  the  Gulf  of  St. 
Lawrence.  Very  blue  and  smooth  seemed 
those  waters  after  the  great  gray-green  roll- 
ers of  the  outer  seas ;  very  soft  and  balmy  the  air  with 
its  breath  of  arcmiatic  forest  scents  and  its  languor  of 
wood  smoke  after  the  deadly  chill  of  fog  off  miles  of  ice- 
fields. For  two  days  before  passing  the  Strait?  the  Cap- 
tain's brow  had  been  clouded  and  his  hours  of  rest  cur- 
tailed, days  when  a  sailor  stood  perpetually  swinging  up 
the  canvas  bucket  in  which  to  dip  the  thermometer  that 
could  warn  of  unseen  iceberg  or  floe. 

Now  these  perils  were  past,  and  the  Canoda.had  made 
the  first  spring  passage  through  the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle, 
strange  misnomer  for  that  desolate  region.  Anticosti  had 
been  left  behind,  a  dim  cloud  to  the  north,  and  the  ship 
was  skirting  close  to  the  forest-clad  headlands  of  Gaspe. 
The  shining  decks  were  crowded  with  groups  of  pas- 
sengers, prosperous  Canadians  returning  from  a  few 
months  abroad;  young  Englishmen,  the  latest  of  the 
spring  exodus  to  the  northwestern  land  of  promise ;  Eng- 
lish girls  on  their  way  to  visit  friends  who  had  made  a 
home  in  those  far-oflf  regions,  or  to  bring  happiness  to 
some  waiting  settler's  cabin.  A  little  apart  from  the 
other  groups,  Marcus  Holbeach  lounged  in  his  deck-chair, 
watching  those  headlands  with  the  air  of  one  greeting  old 

75 


MiaiOCOrY   (ESOIUTION   TEST   CHAIT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

friends.  All  around,  over  the  sparkling  water,  were  dot- 
ted brown-sailed  whalers  or  dories,  their  crews  busy  with 
cod  lines. 

"It's  a  pity  we  couldn't  be  dropped  into  that  fishing- 
boat,"  he  said,  as  they  passed  one  near  enough  to  see  the 
great  shining  codfish  hauled  up  on  the  line.  "It  would 
land  us  not  more  than  a  dozen  miles  from  home." 

"Home?"  repeated  in  a  perplexed  voice  the  younger 
man  who  sat  beside  him. 

In  spite  of  the  family  resemblance  of  long,  delicate- 
featured  face  and  pale  coloring,  there  was  a  deeper  dis- 
similarity between  the  two  men  than  their  twenty  years' 
difference  in  age  accounted  for. 

Worn  and  impassive  as  it  was,  the  older  face  yet  re- 
tained hints  of  a  youth  that  had  dreamed  dreams  and 
seen  visions,  while  the  trimly  self-satisfied  countenance 
of  the  younger  man  merely  revealed  his  knowledge  of  his 
own  value  as  an  exemplary  and  successful  member  of 
society. 

Heir  to  his  cousin's  estate,  with  a  good  university 
career  behind  him,  secretary  to  a  rising  politician,  and 
author  of  several  approved  articles  on  a  political  crisis  in 
a  continental  state,  Giles  Holbeach  felt  entitled  to  take 
himself  seriously,  and  did  so. 

"Home  ?"  he  repeated,  with  bewildered  thought  of  the 
green  riverside  meadows  of  the  family  place.  "You  don't 
call  your  fishing-camp  home,  do  you  ?" 

That  same  fishing-camp  and  this  Canadian  trip  were  a 
secret  grievance  to  Giles,  reft  away  from  the  joys  of  a 
London  June,  from  the  clubs,  the  House,  the  drawing- 
rooms  where  a  young  man  with  ambition  can  always  be 
furthering  his  interests. 

He  had  no  choice,  though,  when  invited  with  a  novel 
impressiveness  by  the  cousin  on  whom  all  his  interests 

76 


OFF    GASPE! 


depended.  He  had,  too,  a  certain  unsatisfied  curiosity  as 
to  these  lengthy  Canadian  trips  of  a  man  who  otherwise 
shared  the  annual  aniusen;ents  of  his  class,  notably  those 
in  which  Lady  Warrenden  was  concerned. 

Perhaps  Marcus  Hoibeach  had  divined  his  grievance  as 
well  as  his  curiosity,  for  he  smiled  with  lazy  cynicism 
as  he  answered : 

"I'm  not  sure  that  my  fishing-camp  might  not  make  a 
good  enough  home — but  1  have  a  better  one  over  there 
behind  that  range  of  hills.  Wait  until  you  see  the  Blufl 
House — and  its  mistress,"  he  added  significantly. 

Blue-green  waves,  dusky  headlands,  and  tawny  sails 
swam  dizzily  before  Giles'  eyes  in  his  sickness  of  disap- 
pointment. For  a  moment  he  felt  quite  ill,  as  his  mental 
vision  pictured  a  black-haired  half-breed  woman,  possibly 
married,  with  a  brood  of  barefooted,  sallow  children  as 
the  end  of  all  his  air-castles. 

He  had  looked  with  strong  disapproval  on  his  cousin's 
role  of  purveyor  to  Lady  Warrenden's  costly  amuse- 
ments, but  what  a  far  more  serious  matter  was  this !  If 
Marcus  had  a  lawful  heir  growing  up  here  in  the  wil- 
derness, he  himself  would  never,  in  the  days  to  come, 
reign  as  master  at  Hoibeach  Manor. 

"Its  mistress?"  he  could  only  repeat  blankly.  Marcus, 
who  must  have  guessed  his  suspense,  hastened  to  put  him 
out  of  his  misery. 

"Yes,  I  had  meant,  when  I  asked  you  to  come  out  with 
me,  to  tell  you  of  my  daughter,  Virginia — but,  somehow, 
I  didn't.    Now  you  will  meet  her  in  a  few  days." 

The  unusual  name  had  been  in  use  for  successive  gen- 
erations in  their  family,  and  sounded  ominously  in  Giles' 
ears.  All  the  same,  that  word  "daughter"  had  in  it  a  pos- 
sibility of  salvation  from  complete  disaster,  and  acted  as 
a  tonic  to  pull  Giles'  scattered  ideas  together. 

77 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


Marcus  had  spoken  of  his  daughter  as  mistress  of  his 
house,  and  so  there  could  be  no  wife,  and  probably  no 
brood  of  children.  Even  the  existence  of  a  daughter  was 
misfortune  enough  in  the  chance  of  most  of  the  dispos- 
able property  going  her  way,  but  there  was  a  wide  gap 
between  that  and  the  ultimate  catastrophe  from  which  he 
could  have  no  hopes  of  rallying. 

Stripped  of  his  heirship  by  a  son  of  Marcus,  he  would 
feel  as  bare  as  a  newly  clipped  poodle  or  a  French  goose 
with  its  feathers  plucked  for  the  market;  in  fact,  he  al- 
ready experienced  a  preliminary  chill  as  the  sea  wind 
touched  the  c^ammy  sweat  on  his  forehead.  And  so,  do 
his  best,  he  could  not  quite  steady  the  quaver  of  suspense 
in  his  voice,  as  he  put  the  crucial  question  : 

"You  have  just  the  one  daughter?  No  others?  No 
sonsf"    That  last^lreadful  word  came  at  a  run. 

Marcus  Holbeach  had  always  been  a  merciful  man  to- 
ward the  foibles  and  weaknesses  of  his  fellow-men,  so 
now  he  was  careful  to  fix  his  eyes  on  a  bobbing  fishing- 
boat,  as  he  answered  in  level  tones : 
"No.    Only  the  one  ewe  lamb." 

Giles  could  not  but  draw  a  deep  breath  of  relief  as  his 
own  private  world  fell  back  into  focus  again. 

Under  the  influence  of  this  relief,  he  managed  to  make 
his  voice  cordial  enough  for  decency  when  he  said : 

"I  shall  look  forward  to  the  meeting  with  extreme  in- 
terest." 

"And  curiosity,  I  suppose?  Well,  that  is  natural 
enough." 

"She  has  never  been  in  England  ?"  Giles  ventured,  the 
vision  of  the  barefooted  French  fishing-girl  still  linger- 
ing. 

His  cousin  seemed  to  divine  his  thoughts. 
"Never,  since  she  was  a  year  old,  though  she  is  nine- 
78 


OFF    GASPfi 


ally,  she  is  the  daughter  of  a  lady,  and  has  been  brought 
up  as  such.  Miss  Creighton.  who  has  superintended  her 
education,  is  a  gentlewoman  by  birth.  When  Virginia 
was  fourteen  they  began  to  spend  their  winters  in  Mont- 
real, where  she  attended  a  good  school.  For  the  last  two 
71aT  w^  •'r^'^^^e'ed  a  Wt-have  been  to  California 

and  the  West  Indies "    Giles  mentally  noted  the  care 

with  which  their  journeys  had  been  made  in  a  different 
direction  from  Marcus'  Egyptian  and  Riviera  haunts.  "It 
is  nearly  two  years  since  I  have  seen  her,  and  she  seemed 
httle  more  than  a  child  then.  She  was  never  the  preco- 
cious sort.  Still,  she  has  always  been  quick-witted  and 
sweet-natured,  and  her  training  should  fit  her  to  take  her 
place  in  the  world." 

With  growing  dismay,  his  listener  read  an  unexpressed 
significance  into  these  woi 

Unless  Marcus  married  and  had  a  son,  he  was  heir  to 
the  family  estate,  but  there  were  also  large  properties  in 
a  prosperous  Midland  town  which  his  cousin  was  free  to 
leave  as  he  chose,  and  the  income  from  these  made  all  the 
difference  in  the  importance  of  the  master  of  Holbeach 
Map-  Was  it  possible  that  Marcus  was  hinting  that 
his  c.  .e  of  complete  inheritance  lay  in  a  marriage  with 
tnis  gin  of  mysterious  parentage  ? 

Now  Giles  was  not  a  man  given. to  day-dreams,  but 
there  was  one  pleasing  problem,  apt  to  lull  him  over  cof- 
fee and  cigarette,  or  in  wakeful  i.ight  hours,  and  this 
question  was  the  identity  of  the  future  Mrs.  Giles  Hol- 
beach. There  were  days  when  he  saw  a  vision  of  a  dainty 
Amencan  bnde,  well-dowered  and  fashionable,  perfect  in 
Parisian  attire,  ready  of  tongue  and  of  wits  to  help  on  his 
career.  But  at  times  this  charmer  would  fade  into  the 
background,  while  her  place  was  taken  by  an  English 
79 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


damsel,  tall  and  fair-haired  and  statuesque,  daughter  of 
a  great  house,  and  cousin  to  half  the  peerage.  She  ought 
to  be  an  honorable,  better  still  if  she  were  a  Lady  Mary 
or  a  Lady  Alexandra. 

It  would  be  like  losing  a  tooth  to  part  with  these  rosy 
possibilities,  save  for  fruition.  During  the  ten  years  or 
so  he  had  been  about  in  society,  Giles  had  seen  more  than 
one  of  his  contemporaries  made  or  marred  by  his  mar- 
riage, and  had  laid  the  lesson  to  heart.  With  an  inward 
sigh,  he  heaid  Marcus  go  on : 

"Now  that  she  is  a  woman,  I  blame  myself  for  not 
having  sooner  fonned  more  definite  views  as  to  her  fu- 
ture. The  poor  child  has  few  friends  beyond  one  or  two 
neighbors  in  the  village  where  she  has  grown  up.  I  asked 
you  to  come  out  because  I  want  you  to  know  her,  so  that 
were  anything  to  happen  to  me  you  could  befriend  her." 

This  parental  sentiment  was  a  bewilderingly  new  side 
to  his  amiably  cynical  cousin,  but  Giles  did  his  best  to  re- 
spond suitably. 

"Of  course,  even  without  knowing  her,  I  should  be 
ready  to  do  all  I  could  for  your  daughter— though  with 

you  to  care  for  her "  he  hesitated  over  the  difficulty 

of  speaking  to  a  man  of  the  days  when  he  should  walk 
no  more  in  the  light  of  the  sun. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Thank  you,"  Marcus  said,  anxious, 
as  every  Englishman  is,  to  get  away  from  the  intimately 
personal  side  of  a  question. 

It  was  possibly  a  relief  to  both  men  when,  just  as  a 
somewhat  awkward  silence  fell  upon  them,  the  Captain, 
an  old  acquaintance  of  Marcus',  came  along  with  an  of- 
fer to  show  him  certain  charts. 

The  latter  responded  with  alacrity,  and  as  they  went 
off  to  the  chart-room,  Giles  settled  down  to  consider  the 
information  he  had  acquired. 
80 


OFF    GASPE 


"A  lady,  the  daughter  of  a  lady,"  hi^  cousin  had  called 
her.  Giles  was  also  too  familiar  with  the  family  tradi- 
tions not  to  know  that  the  child  of  a  low-born  mother 
would  never  have  been  given  the  name  borne  by  so  many 
of  his  kinswomen.  Could  she  be  Lady  Warrenden's 
daughter?  No;  considering  the  girl's  age,  that  hardly 
seemed  possible  if  certain  tales  of  that  lady's  previous  ad- 
mirers were  true.  Well,  he  did  not  care  who  the  girl's 
mother  might  have  been  so  long  as  he  had  not  to  marry 
her  and  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  glossing  over  the  awk- 
ward facts  of  her  birth.  Awkward  facts  have  such  a  trick 
of  resurrection,  he  reflected. 

Yet,  the  more  he  pondered  the  subject  the  more  he  saw 
how  desirable  from  Marcus'  standpoint  such  a  marriage 
would  be.  He  could  hardly  introduce  the  girl  into  Eng- 
lish society  as  his  daughter,  but  as  wife  to  his  cousin  and 
heir,  she  could  take  a  daughter's  place  a  id  eventually  be 
mistress  of  her  father's  home. 

After  all,  she  would  be  to  her  father  the  most  substan- 
tial reason  against  matrimony,  the  supreme  peril  to  Giles' 
future,  and  as  such  was  she  not  worth  annexing? 

Lady  Warrenden's  husband  was  a  chronic  invalid,  con- 
veniently spending  his  days  between  Davos  and  Madeira. 
Chronic  invalids  are  not  given  to  dying,  but  still  this  one 
might  chance  to  do  so,  leaving  his  widow  free  to  marry. 
Considering  all  this,  the  newly  discovered  daughter  might 
prove  a  useful  ally. 

And  Marcus  Holbeach— the  man  who  had  brought 
himself  to  reveal  the  hidden  side  of  his  life,  the  tragic 
romance  of  his  youth,  to  the  cool  scrutiny  of  a  worldling 
—what  was  he  feeling  as,  after  escaping  from  the  Cap- 
tain's theories,  he  paced  the  deck  with  a  cigar? 

"Poor  child !    And  I  cannot  do  better  for  her  than  give 
her  that  fish-blooded  creature  for  a  husband.    He  was 
8i 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


quick  enough  to  know  what  I  meant.  I  could  see  him 
calculating  her  value  as  I  talked.  But,  after  all,  he's  re- 
spectable, and  if  he  will  graciously  condescend  to  marry 
her  and  bring  her  to  Holbeach  I  shall  try  to  settle  down 
in  all  the  odor  of  county  sanctity.  If  it  were  not  for 
Violet " 

But  this  reflection  was  allowed  to  drift  into  vagueness, 
while  he  stared  at  the  hills  already  taking  on  the  deep 
purple  of  evening,  the  hills  in  a  cleft  of  which  lay  Lanse 
Louise  and  all  that  it  meant  to  him.  A  man  of  warm 
heart  and  quick  intellect,  his  life  would  not  have  been 
the  failure  he,acknowledged  it,  but  for  a  lack  of  the  more 
robust  strain  of  moral  courage,  without  which  none  may 
hope  to  win  outward  success  or  inward  serenity. 

He  was  sensible  of  that  lack  now  in  an  unmistakable 
nervousness  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  his  nineteen-year- 
old  daughter.  What  if  he  were  to  read  in  her  eyes  a  new 
consciousness  and  resentment  of  her  position?  As  a 
graceful,  docile  child,  well  cared  for  by  Miss  Creighton, 
she  had  formed  an  attractive  feature  of  his  Canadian 
home,  until,  young  as  she  was  for  her  age,  he  had  two 
years  ago  begun  to  feel  the  constraint  of  the  budding 
womanhood.  Last  ■summer  he  had  postponed  the  ques- 
tion by  absence,  but  this  year  every  sense  of  duty  and 
manhood  demanded  that  he  should  make  some  eflfort  to 
insure  her  future. 

That  brief,  tragic  episode  of  his  youth  had  become  so 
dimmed  by  time  that  he  did  not  often  think  of  Virginia 
as  the  child  of  his  first,  ill-fated  tove. 

She  had  been  governess  to  his  half-sisters,  and  the  two 
had  loved  speedily  and  passionately.  He  was  in  the  army 
then,  and  a  sudden  call  to  active  service  had  taken  him 
off  to  India  at  a  day's  notice. 

He  had  been  given  no  time  to  go  home,  even  for  a  day, 
82 


OFF    GASPfi 


and  her  pitifi;;  appeal  did  not  reach  him  in  time,  nor  did 
her  later  letters.  His  step-mother  acteu  the  part  of  a  re- 
lentless moial  woman,  the  old  part  of  the  Pharisees.  The 
girl  had  no  home  or  family,  and  the  first  tidings  Marcus 
received  told  of  her  being  driven  out  friendless  into  the 
world.  He  was  at  the  front  in  a  border  campaign ;  he  had 
little  money,  and  was  all  but  helpless.  But  he  did  what 
he  could,  cabling  his  father,  and  sending  long  letters  of 
frantic  remorse  and  tenderness  to  the  girl  he  had 
wronged.  It  was  all  useless.  The  next  letters  that 
reached  the  little  force  brought  the  news  of  her  death, 
leaving  a  child  behind  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  lucky  for  him  that  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed bore  such  a  stress  and  strain  of  hardship  and  peril 
as  to  dull  even  his  remorse. 

Before  the  campaign  was  over  and  Marcus  was  free 
to  go  home,  word  had  come  of  his  father's  sudden  death 
and  his  own  inheritance.  When  he  reached  England  he 
refused  to  meet  his  father's  widow.  His  first  instinct 
was  isolation,  and  he  lost  no  time  in  leaving  the  service. 
With  a  trained  nurse  in  charge  of  the  child,  he  sailed  for 
Canada.  Here  he  sought  solitude  on  a  salmon  river  and, 
taking  a  fancy  to  Lanse  Louise,  he  settled  himself  in  the 
Bluff  House,  first  with  the  nurse  and  child,  and  later 
with  Miss  Creighton,  who  had  answered  his  advertise- 
ment in  a  Montreal  paper. 

Here  he  stayed  for  two  years,  but  he  was  young,  and 
inevitably  the  world  reclaimed  him.  At  first  his  visits 
to  England  were  short,  but  they  gradually  included  the 
whole  winter,  sometimes  all  the  year  save  the  two  or 
three  months  of  early  summer. 

The  crust  of  time  formed  over  the  old  wound,  and  his 
intimacy  with  Lady  Warrenden  drew  him  deeper  into  the 
social  vortex. 


83 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


Such  was  the  warp  and  woof  woven  by  the  Fates  into 
the  texture  of  Marcus  Holbeach's  life. 

He  had  little  liking  for  his  heir ;  perhaps  it  was  hardly 
in  human  nature  that  he  should  have.  All  the  same,  he 
inwardly  acknowledged  with  whimsical  amusement  that, 
from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  Giles  was  likely  to  make 
a  more  brilliant  thing  of  life  than  he  himself  had  done. 

"At  any  rate,  there's  small  chance  of  his  letting  it  all 
go  for  a  woman's  sake,"  he  said  to  himself.  "If  I  can 
only  make  him  see  that  it's  well  worth  his  while  to  take 
my  poor  little  girl,  he'll  do  it  fast  enough.  And  if  she 
is  the  kind  to  weekly  admire  him,  and  think  most  of  her 
trousseau  and  bridal  honors,  it's  all  right.    But  if  she  has 

the  soul  of  a  dewdrop  in  sunshine,  like  Amy "  for  a 

moment  his  whole  being  was  immersed  in  the  past— "well 
then,  I  swear  to  God,  she  shall  have  the  very  best  I  can 
give  her." 

When  next  Marcus  came  across  Giles,  he  found  him 
imbibing  wisdom  from  the  lips  of  an  Ontario  senator. 

In  the  seven  days  of  the  voyage  he  had  already  laid  up 
copious  notes  on  the  defenses  of  Canada  and  her  future 
relation  toward  the  Empire,  with  view  to  a  series  of 
magazine  articles  which  he  foresaw  would  bring  him 
much  kudos.  After  a  day  in  Quebec,  his  schemes  swelled 
to  two  volumes,  and  with  such  important  preoccupations, 
it  was  natural  that  he  should  defer  any  consideration  of 
Virginia  Holbeach  and  her  claims  until  after  his  meeting 
with  that  damsel. 


CHAPTER   X 


P 


THE  WENONAH 

^ON  my  word,  it's  not  at  all  unlike  the  Lake  of 
Como.  Those  white  cottages  over  there  might 
very  well,  in  this  light,  be  marble  villas.  I 
had  no  idea  you  had  anything  of  this  kind  out 
here,"  Giles  Holbeach  said,  contemplating  with  patroni-- 
ing  approval  the  sunset  glories  of  the  Basin,  the  purple 
gloom  of  the  Shigshook  hills,  the  oily  stillness  of  prim- 
rose-tinted water  between  the  velvety  brown  shadows  of 
the  banks,  the  peaceful  houses, 

"Sleeping  safe  in  the  bosom  o{  the  plain 
Cared  for  til!  cock-crow." 

Out  in  midst  of  that  primrose  streak  of  water  was  sil- 
houetted the  graceful  lines  of  a  yacht,  her  riding-light 
already  showing  in  the  rigging. 

This  yacht,  the  Wenonah,  a  yearly  visitant  to  these 
waters,  had  come  in  at  sunset,  and,  to  Virginia's  eyes, 
added  a  n.'w  note  of  friendliness  to  the  scene. 

The  Hoibeach  family  party,  joined  by  Dorval,  had 
strolled  down  to  the  Bluff,  and  wei .  sitting  on  the  plat- 
form at  the  head  of  the  steps  leading  down  to  the  land- 
ing. 

"What  idea  had  you  about  it?"  Virginia  asked  some- 
what abruptly. 

She   was   deadly  tired  of  the  amount  of  polite  con- 

8j 


MARCUS    HOI.BEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


versation  with  which  her  cousin  had  favored  her  during 
the  last  two  days.  It  was  conversation  in  which,  untried 
M  she  was,  she  felt  the  eflfort  of  a  man  of  the  world  talk- 
ing down  to  an  unformed  school-girl,  and  Virginia  was 
used  to  being  treated  as  a  sensible  person  by  her  .ur- 
rounding  world,  such  as  the  Sabine  family  and  Mr.  Dor- 
val.  There  was  the  latter  now.  close  at  hand,  talking  to 
her  father.  More  than  once  she  had  heard  Jack  LeRoy's 
name,  and  her  desire  to  listen  was  keen,  but  no,  she  must 
go  on  talkmg  about  nothing  at  all  in  the  fashion  Giles 
seemed  to  consider  necessary  to  salvation. 

"What  idea  had  you  about  =t?"  she  "had  asked,  and 
at  the  apparently  simple  question,  Giles  turned  a  scru- 
tinizing glance  on  her. 

Ho-w  slim  and  young  and  guileless  she  looked,  bare- 
headed in  the  evening  light,  in  the  white  habitant  flannel 
«iat  was  her  usual  spring  dinner  dress,  for  June  evenings 
have  their  own  chill  on  the  Gulf  shores,  and  she  never 
stayed  indoors  when  she  could  help  it.  The  result  of  his 
inspection  was  satisfactory  to  himself.  If  needs  must, 
here  surely  was  malleable  stuff,  ready  to  his  hand  for  the 
shaping  of  a  suitable  wife.  For  all  her  unformed  girlish- 
ness,  Giles  was  quick  to  recognize  an  impalpable  but  very 
real  air  of  good  breeding,  an  air  that  would  later  develop 
into  a  distinguished  bearing,  familiar  to  him  in  the  women 
of  his  race.    And  so  Giles  responded  cheerfully 

Oh,  well,  that's  rather  hard  to  say.  I  suppose  I  ex- 
pected something  big  and  desolate,  something  more  like 
Norway.  This  place  has  a  cosy  look,  almost  like  an 
English  village." 

Virginia  gazed  over  toward  the  dark  hills,  untrodden 
since  the  begmmng  of  things,  save  by  Indians,  hunters 
and  lumbermen,  and  then  out  to  where  the  light  on  Cap 
Rosier  stabbed  the  blue  distance. 

86 


THE   WE.XONAH 


"I  think  you  will  find  space  and  solitude  enough  here," 
(he  said.  "If  you  want  to  sec  desolation,  wait  until  you 
get  up  into  the  burnt  wood  district  on  the  way  to  the  St. 
John.  There's  nothing  but  the  gray  ghosts  of  trees,  either 
standing  or  fallen.    They  remind  me  of  a  dead  world." 

"Were  they  burnt  on  purpose?"  Giles  asked,  with  a 
vague  idea  of  settlers  clearing  land.  He  felt  the  flicker 
of  amusement  in  Virginia's  eyes,  though  he  could  not 
guess  its  cause. 

"Hardly,  when  the  timber  was  worth  a  fortune.  A  few 
years  ago  there  was  a  bad  fire  across  the  Basin  on  the 
hills;  in  the  daylight  yo-t  can  see  the  gray  patch.  Some 
children  picking  berri.  lit  it.  Now  there  is  a  heavy 
fine  on  any  one  lightir.,^  a  fire  within  a  mile  of  a  timber 
limit." 

Giles  stored  away  this  fact  with  the  others  which  were 
to  go  toward  his  future  magazine  ar  ..s  on  Canada,  or 
perhaps,  if  he  did  not  find  himself  ca  jle,  in  the  course 
of  a  month  or  two,  of  dealing  with  all  Canada,  though 
that  was  improbable,  on  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  Virginia  added  politely,  "that  the 
river  is  too  high  for  you  to  go  up  just  yet." 

"Are  you  anxious  to  get  rid  of  us  so  soon?"  he  asked, 
with  an  amused  smile. 

A  consciousness  of  guilt  caused  Virginia  to  color  deeply, 
a  fact  which  he  took  as  a  modest  sign  of  her  enjoyment 
of  his  society.  He  was  beginning  to  think  that  the  girl 
might  make  a  pleasanter  wife  than  some  up-to-date,  self- 
important  young  woman,  whom  it  would  not  be  so  easy 
to  impress  with  a  due  sense  of  his  importance. 

"Oh,  no,  but  I  know  how  anxious  you  must  be  for  your 
first  sahnon." 
Giles  was  not  so  sure  about  that. 
"Ves,  of  course,  but  then  I  like  to  grt  a  general  idea  of 
'  «7 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

the  country,  too.  Now,  that  visit  to  the  lumber-mill  to- 
day was  most  interesting.  I  learnt  a  great  many  new 
facts." 

"Was  it?"  Virginia  said.  She  could  not  see  why  any- 
one should  want  to  lo<*  at  a  lumber-mill  when  they 
might  go  fishing. 

Their  conversation  was  unmistakably  languishing  and 
perhaps  both  were  relieved  when  Mr.  Holbeach,  knocking 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  called  to  his  daughter: 

"Dorval  and  I  are  going  out  to  the  Wenonah  to  look 
up  the  Tathems.    Do  you  want  tb  come,  too?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  father.  Do  you  think  Tom  and  his 
wife  are  there?"  Virginia  responded  alertly,  moving  to- 
ward the  two  older  men. 

"The  best  way  to  find  out  is  to  go  and  see,"  her  father 
answered,  reaching  out  a  gentle  hand  to  take  hers  as  she 
stood  beside  him.  "Well,  Dorval,  how  would  you  care  to 
be  forced  into  realizing  your  age  by  the  sight  of  a  great 
grown-up  daughter  like  this?"  he  asked. 

"There  might  be  less  pleasant  ways  of  finding  it  out," 
Dorval  answered  with  a  kindly  glance  at  Virginia.  He 
was  pleased  to  see  that  her  father  was  satisfied  with  her, 
though  it  struck  him  that  the  girl  was  a  bit  stiff  and 
unresponsive  toward  him. 

As  they  went  down  to  the  landing,  Holbeach  explained 
to  his  guest  that  the  Tathems  were  old  friends,  being  a 
wealthy  Montreal  family,  who  year  after  year  came  down 
for  the  fishing.  "Only  their  pools  are  on  the  York, 
and  thereby  they  reap  the  benefit  just  now,  for  the  York 
is  an  earlier  river  than  the  St.  John." 

"How  is  that  ?"  Giles  asked  with  his  usual  polite  thirst 
for  information,  and  thereon  ensued  a  fisherman's  dis- 
sertation on  times  and  seasons. 
Giles  was  a  bit  surprised  when  the  thin,  sallow,  middle- 
88 


THE   WENONAH 


aged  man  who  seemed  on  such  strangely  intimate  terms 
with  his  host  and  his  daughter,  unfastened  the  boat  and 
took  the  oars  in  a  matter-of-course  way  that  told  of 
having  done  it  often  before. 

He  had  always  thought  Marcus  Holbeach  a  reserved, 
stand-offish  man  and  here  he  seemed  to  be  the  comrade 
or  adviser  of  a  whole  village  of  various  folk. 

Virginia  had  taken  the  rudder  lines  in  the  same  un- 
questioning fashion,  and  the  two  men  sat  one  on  each 
side  of  her  in  the  stern. 

Out  over  the  oily  calm  water  they  went,  now  and  then 
disturbing  a  cormorant  that  flapped  away  croaking. 

They  had  reached  the  wider  curve  of  the  Basin  where 
the  yacht  lay  secure  under  shelter  of  the  hills,  and  those 
on  deck  were  watching  them  from  the  rails. 

"One,  two— I  see  two  women,"  Virginia  announced  as 
though  womenfolk   were   the   most  delightful  novelty. 
"And— Oh,  yes,  I'm  sure  the  tall  one  is  Mrs.  Tom." 
Just  then  came  a  hail  in  a  woman's  clear  voice : 
"Is  that  you,  Virginia,  and  is  that  your  father?    How 
sweet  in  you  to  come  out.    Hurry  up  on  board." 

A  red-haired  young  fellow  of  twenty-three  or  four, 
bubbling  over  with  mirthful  welcome,  met  them  at  the 
foot  of  the  gangway. 

^^  "Don't  you  know  me,  Virginia?"  he  asked  audaciously. 
"Why,  I  declare,  none  of  you  do,  not  even  Mr.  Dorval." 
"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,  Master  Hugh,"  was  the 
latter's  retort,  and  Virginia  joined  in  gleefully : 
"I  knew  you,  too,  after  the  first  minute." 
Giles  was  highly  delighted  to  find  himself  on  the  deck 
of  a  yacht  that  might  fairly  recall  the  glories  of  Cannes 
or  Cowes.    The  women,  too,  bore  the  mark  of  fashion 
even  on  their  plain  yachting  clothes. 
There  was  Mrs.  Tom  Tathem,  big  and  fair  and  out- 
89 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


doorsy  as  any  upper-class  Englishwoman,  who  was  hug- 
ging Virginia  and  welcoming  her  father  in  a  warm- 
hearted way.  There  was  her  sister-in-law,  Cecily 
lathem,  a  much  more  magnificent  and  less  spontaneous 
person  bearmg  the  stamp  of  heiress  from  the  height  of 
her  elaborately  dressed  hair  down  to  the  tip  of  her  silver- 
buckled  shoe.  The  brothers,  Tom  and  Hugh  Tathem 
were  both  big  and  fair  and  good-looking  like  their 
sister-mdeed,  like  Mrs.  Tom.  who  seemed  to  have  been 
chosen  because  of  her  similarity  to  the  family  type 

Besides  these,  there  was  a  young  man  of  about  thirty, 
tall  and  cadavprous,  with  a  somewhat  absent  and  dreamy 
cast  of  countenance.  Him  Giles  heard  them  calling  Noel. 
but  whether  it  were  Christian  or  surname,  he  was  not 
sure. 

There  was  a  great  flutter  of  talk  in  which  it  was  ex- 
plamed  that  Tom  and  his  wife  had  only  a  few  weeks  to 
give  to  Lanse  Louise  this  year,  and  that  then  they  must 
teke  the  yacht  back,  as  they  were  shortly  to  sail  for 
England.  Tom  having  to  go  over  on  a  Privy  Council 
appeal  case. 

"Hugh  and  Mr.  Noel  are  to  be  our  Jonahs,  cast  over- 
board mto  the  maw  of  the  first  big  salmon  that  fancies 
them— though  fossils,  not  salmon,  are  the  beloved  of 
Mr.  Noel's  heart.  When  he  and  Tom  were  at  Harvard 
together  he  used  to  fill  the  easy-chairs  in  their  sitting- 
room  with  rocks  and  stones.  Did  you  ever  see  a  geolo- 
gist before.  Virginia .'" 

"Yes,  that  is,  if  a  geologist  is  a  man  who  collects  fos- 
sils,  was  her  unexpected  answer. 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  but  Noel  looked  at  her  as 
though  just  realizing  her  identity. 

"Of  course  he  is,  and  glad  to  get  them.    Yoa  don't 
happen  to  know  anyone  about  here  who  hunts  fossils, 
90 


THE    WENONAH 


do  you?    I  want  badly  to  see  what  I  have  a  chance  of 
finding,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"Mr.  Sabine  at  the  hotel  has  shelves  full.  He  and  his 
daughter  were  down  at  Grand  Greve  last  week  and  came 
back  with  a  lot.  They  were  arranging  them  yesterday," 
the  girl  responded  promptly.  She  liked  to  tell  these 
people  from  the  outside  world  of  her  Lanse  Louise 
friends. 
"I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  see  them,"  Noel  said. 
"Of  course  you  could.  I  always  run  in  to  see  Mrs. 
Sabine  when  I  come  back  here,  and  we'll  go  up  there 
in  the  morning.  They  are  quite  unusual  people  to  be 
found  in  a  small  country  hotel,"  said  Mrs.  Tom,  who 
virith  Mr.  Holbeach  and  Dorval  formed  their  group, 
while  the  others  talked  apart 

"And  so  your  friend  Esther  goes  in  for  fossils,  does 
she,  Virginia?"  she  added. 

"Yes,  she  has  been  to  Perce  once  or  twice  with  her 
father  and  knows  all  the  best  places  to  hunt  in,"  said 
Virginia,  and  Mrs.  Tom  looked  at  Noel  and  said  laugh- 
ingly: 
"The  hand  of  Fate." 

And  then  it  came  out  thit  the  Tathems,  being  equally 
delayed  by  high  water  on  their  river,  were  planning  to 
take  the  yacht  round  to  Perce  for  a  day  or  two  if  the 
fickle  Gulf  winds  kept  as  serene  as  at  present.  These 
plans  included  a  carrying  off  of  the  Holbeach  party, 
"and  you,  too,  Mr.  Dorval,"  said  Mrs.  Tom. 

Virginia  looked  at  her  father  with  pleading  eyes.  She 
had  marked  Giles  comfortably  settled  down  to  entertain 
Cecily  Tathem,  and  felt  sure  that  that  young  lady  would 
take  him  off  her  hands  for  those  few  days.  Mr.  Hol- 
beach politely  pleaded  their  number,  but  was  assured  by 
Mrs.  Tom  that  there  was  room  for  all. 

91 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


And  It  will  be  unexpected  fun  showing  the  sights  to 
an  Englishman,  won't  it,  Cecily?"  she  called  across  the 
deck,  and  thus  the  others  were  drawn  in  and  Giles  was 
given  a  sketch  of  what  he  was  to  see. 

And  so  the  trip  was  arranged.  Mr.  Dorval  standing 
out  against  going  with  them,  and  only  promising  that  if 
the  wind  were  fair  he  would  sail  over  in  his  own  boat  to 
join  them  on  the  Saturday  afternoon  that  left  him  free 
:rom  business. 

Giles  and  Virginia  were  both  in  visibly  higher  spirits 
as  they  rowed  back. 

About  the  Tathems  and  their  yacht  was  an  atmosphere 
of  fashionable  prosperity  in  which  his  Tomlinsonian  soul 
expanded.   A  yacht  seemed  a  welcome  reprieve  from  that 
unfamiliar  and  uncomfortable  camp  in  the  wilderness 
with  Its  horrors  of  mosquitoes  and  guides  who  would  ex- 
pect him  to  know  all  about  his  present  bugbear,  salmon. 
As  for  Virginia,  she  was  in  that  state  of  mind  when  a 
crowd  IS  a  welcome  refuge.    It  was  not  so  long  ago  that 
her  fathers  arrival  had  been  the  ecstatic  landmark  of 
her  year.   Now  there  was  a  difference,  a  difference  which, 
though  impalpable,  was  strong  enough  to  pain  a  heart 
essentially  loyal.    Was  it  that  this  year  she  felt  her  father 
was  mutely  demanding  more  from  her,  demanding  what, 
by  for  so  long  shutting  her  out  from  his  own  life,  he  had 
put  It  beyond  her  power  to  give?   Or  was  it  perhaps  the 
consciousness  of  a  stronger  influence,  drawing  her  away 
to  the  working  out  of  her  own  dt  .iny? 

All  this,  though  vague,  was  real  as  the  gliding  sea- 
mist  that  has  power  to  veil  the  brightest  sunshine. 
Amidst  It,  Giles'  unfamiliar,  incongruous  presence  was 
merely  worrying,  like  a  bumble-bee  against  the  window 
panes  of  a  darkened  room  where  one  is  trying  to  shut  out 
wought. 

92 


CHAPTER   XI 


FOSSILS 


ESTHER  SABINE'S  was  a  keen,  vivid  nature, 
intent  on  tasting  life's  experiences,  its  pleas- 
ures and  penalties  to  the  full.    She  could  bear 
anything  better  than  monotony,  and  of  that  she 
had  already  her  full  portion. 

All  winter  she  and  Virginia  had  shared  the  same 
amusements,  though  necessarily  even  then,  hers  was  the 
more  arduous  life  of  the  two.  Now  her  winter  leisure 
was  over,  her  summer  routine  of  helping  to  run  the  full 
hotel  was  just  beginning,  while  her  friend  was  wrapped 
away  from  her  by  new  companionship.  Virginia  would 
go  sailing  about  the  Bay,  would  be  up  on  the  river,  here, 
there,  and  everywhere,  while  she  spent  the  benign  days 
doing  accounts,  giving  out  stores,  making  herself  pleas- 
ant to  boarders. 

Last  night  she  had  sat  on  the  veranda  alone  an'' 
watched  the  Wenonah's  lights  with  a  queer  little  feeli^ 
of  being  left  out. 

She  had  known  the  Tathems  from  childhood,  for  their 
father,  being  head  of  the  great  York  Lumber  Company 
that  every  winter  sent  its  camps  of  men  into  the  Gaspe 
forests,  the  family  had  spent  most  of  their  summers  in 
a  cottage  at  Lanse  Louise  and  Mrs.  Tom,  who  was  their 
orphan  cousin,  then  Maud  Danby,  had  always  come  with 
them.  She  being,  even  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  of  a  moth- 
erly nature,  delighted  to  have  the  two  children,  Esther 

93 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


and  Virginia,  dangling  at  her  heels.  Cecily,  a  year  or 
two  younger,  had  seldom  taken  much  notice  of  them  and 
kept  them  at  a  distance,  but  Maud  rowed  and  bathed 
and  gathered  flowers  and  berries  with  them  after  she  was 
grown  up. 

It  was  a  gloriously  still  morning  before  the  coming 
of  the  sea  wind,  and  Mr.  Sabine  sat  in  the  sunshine 

°"  !  ,^/"'"'*'  •'"'"y  ^g^'d.  as  the  purposeless 
folk  of  life  invariably  are  with  futile  tasks,  in  making 
labels  to  attach  to  some  of  his  beloved  experimental 
plants  There  was  a  fragile  elasticity  about  the  man 
which  had  survived  a  stern  transplanting.  If  Mrs.  Sabine 
were  at  home,  he  would  have  been  in  the  office  apparently 
intent  on  the  books,  but  she  had  taken  the  buckboard  and 
driven  oflf  on  a  search  for  a  setting  hen,  and  over  the 
premises  reigned  that  peace  which  the  absence  of  a  stren- 
uous mistress  invariably  brings. 

Within  sight,  at  the  side  of  the  house,  Esther  had  been 
busy  setting  out  some  plants  from  the  hot-bed  which  her 
father  made  and  tended  every  year.  Hers  was  not  the 
brooding,  personal  love  which  middle-aged,  contemplative 
women  give  to  flowers.  She  merely  worked  at  them  to 
please  ler  father,  and  from  a  craving  to  have  her  sur- 
roundings as  trim  and  bright  as  might  be. 

Pleasantly  tired,  she  had  fetched  herself  a  cup  of  milk 
from  the  dairy,  and  sat  down  on  the  veranda  steps  near 
her  father. 

The  hotel  stood  close  to  the  road  on  the  outer  edges  of 
which  ran  the  plank  side-walk.  Along  road  and  side- 
walk came  occasional  passers-by  who  each  and  all  had  a 
greeting  for  the  Sabines. 

There  was  the  French  washerwoman's  black-haired 
daughter,  with  all  the  swing  and  trim  briskness  of  her 
kind  m  Paris  streets.  There  was  the  doctor  in  a  buck- 
94 


FOSSILS 


board,  well  coated  with  mud;  there  were  trim  man-of- 
war  sailors  from  a  Canadian  cruiser  now  in  port,  and 
brown  children  from  the  half-breed  settlement  up  the 
road,  with  baskets  of  dandelions  for  sale.  Esther  had  a 
friendly  greeting  for  all  these  atoms  that  made  the  worid 
around  her,  but  a  new  animation  lighted  her  face  as  she 
saw  a  tall  figure  in  smart  white  duck  dress  coming  up 
the  road.  Beside  her  walked  a  man  taller  still,  "a  living 
skeleton,"  Esther  thought  as  she  ran  down  the  steps  and 
out  mto  the  road  to  meet  Mrs.  Tathem. 

"Mrs.  Tom!"  she  beamed.  "I  thought  if  I  kept  a 
sharp  lookout  I  should  spy  you  somewhere  about  to-day." 
"You  couldn't  help  it  when  I  was  on  my  way  up  to 
see  you.  This  is  Mr.  Noel  who  is  with  us  on  board,  and 
who  came  to  keep  me  company  while  Tom  and  Hugh  are 
ransacking  the  country  for  canoes  and  all  sorts  of 
things." 

"What  a  dull-looking  man  for  the  Tathems  to  like," 
Esther  reflected  as  she  said : 

"Mother  will  be  so  sorry  to  miss  you.  She's  gone  on 
a  search  after  a  setting  hen.    Here's  father." 

Mr.  Sabine  had  risen,  the  nervous  flush  on  his  face 
that  the  least  excitement  brought  there,  but  his  pleasure 
at  sight  of  Mrs.  Tom  was  evident. 

"Three  years,"  she  said,  "since  we've  been  near  Lanse 
Louise.  You  must  have  thought  matrimony  had  changed 
us  for  the  worse.  But,  really,  what  with  the  babies  and 
what  with  a  summer  abroad,  I  thought  we  were  never 
going  to  get  back  here  again.  Tom  and  I  vowed  that  if 
it  were  only  for  a  week,  we  shouldn't  miss  the  river  this 
year,  so  here  we  are,  and  really  Virginia  Holbeach  is  the 
only  person  who  is  a  bit  changed.  Everyone  else  looks 
as  young  as  ever.  Lanse  Louise  must  have  the  secret  of 
perpetual  youth,  Mr.  Sabine." 

9S 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


In  face  of  the  latter's  fragility,  the  careless  words 
sounded  ahnost  cruel.  Mr.  Sabine  shook  his  head  si- 
lently, and  with  a  fierce  ache  at  her  heart,  Esther  said  to 
herself :  "Doesn't  she  see  ?   Doesn't  she  see  ?" 

Mrs.  Tom  went  on  to  introduce  Mr.  Noel  in  a  vague 
fashion  of  her  own  that  slurred  over  his  name,  and  to 
explain  that  he  had  heard  of  Mr.  Sabine's  collection  of 
fossils  and  would  like  to  see  them.  The  poor  man's  eager 
joy  at  prospect  of  a  sympathetic  audience  was  pathetic. 
Pathetic,  too,  were  those  rough  shelves  in  a  dark  pas- 
sage leading  to  an  added  wing,  where  his  treasures  re- 
posed. 

"Oh,  if  he  is  sniffy  about  them,  how  I  shall  hate  him  I" 
Esther  said  to  herself  in  the  midst  of  Mrs.  Tom's  chat- 
ter. But  she  was  soon  set  at  ease.  There  was  nothing 
save  a  deferential  interest  in  the  fashion  in  which  the 
stranger  listened  to  the  tale  of  how  this  or  that  was 
secured. 

"My  daughter  was  with  me,"  or,  "Esther,  did  we  find 
that  at  Perce?"  Mr.  Sabine  said  more  than  once,  and 
presently  Noel  commented  with  a  smile :  "I  see  you  are 
lucky  in  your  assistant." 

Mr.  Sabine  put  his  hand  through  his  daughter's  arm 
with  a  dependent  gesture. 

"Ah,  yes,  Esther  and  I  have  had  some  pleasant  rambles 
together,  though  now  I  find  they  somewhat  tax  my 
strength.  We  had  planned  to  get  to  Perce  once  more 
this  spring,  but  I  fear  we  sha'n't  manage  it." 

Mrs.  Tom^  was  the  soul  of  kindness,  and  not  pausing 
to  consider  if  Mr.  Sabine  would  make  a  congenial  ele- 
ment in  her  party,  she  said  impulsively ; 

"Well,  here  is  your  chance  now.    We're  starting  to- 
morrow for  a  few  days  at  Perce  to  show  our  friend  here 
the  promised  land.    Tom,  too,  thinks  he  may  get  some 
96 


FOSSILS 


fresh  specimens  of  sea-fowl,  and  I'm  keen  to  photograph 
the  rock  and  the  pilgrimage  mountain.  So  you  and 
Esther  pack  your  bags  and  come  on  board  to-mortx>w 
morning.  Tom  vows  he  won't  wait  for  any  one  after  ten 
o'clock." 

Did  she  really  mean  it?  Esther  wondered,  flushing  with 
joy  at  such  a  marvelous  prospect.  Two  or  three  days 
away  from  Lanse  Louise,  that  had  so  long  shut  her  in 
between  the  hills  and  the  sea,  days  in  the  society  of 
cheery  people  who  talked  and  laughed  in  unrestrained 
equality,  sfemed  the  rosiest  prospect  to  her.  But  her 
father  shook  his  head  gently. 

"It  is  like  your  kindness  to  wish  to  burden  yourself 
with  an  infirm  old  man,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  courtli- 
ness new  to  Esther;  "but  my  day  for  young  folks'  jaunts 
is  over.  If  you  will  take  Esther,  though,  it  will  give  us 
equal  enjoyment— me  to  hear  of,  and  her  to  experience, 
some  little  adventures." 

Esther  listened,  marveling.  It  was  her  father  thus 
settling  matters,  he  whom  she  had  never  heard  give  an 
order  without  first  nervously  referring  it  to  Mrs.  Sa- 
bine. 

"ITiat's  a  bargain,  then.  Esther  will  join  the  scientific 
branch  of  our  expedition  under  our  distinguished  friend," 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand  toward  Noel. 

It  seemed  terrible  to  cast  any  doubt  on  such  a  dazzling 
reality,  but  Est!.  ;r  felt  bound  to  put  in  a  caution. 

"Do  you  think  mother  can  spare  me,  father?"  she  asked 
gently. 

The  new  light  and  purpose  faded  from  Mr.  Sabine's 
face,  and  the  old  nervously  furtive  look  reappeared  as 
he  glanced  back  along  the  passage  almost  as  though  ex- 
pecting his  wife  to  appear. 

"Of  course,  we  must  see  what  she  says  to  it  before 

97 


_  MARCUS   HOLBEAPM-R   DAUGHTER 

Presently  the  two  visitors  went  their  wav  leavino- 
fa^er  and  daughter  looking  at  each  other  wZhe3 
a>r  of  conspirators.    As  Mr<  T/m,  ._j  i.  *^  ~ 

down  the  ink  walktd/r  .heToronlKl^*"":'* 
snjffed  the  balsa„,ed  air  appreciatTvely  ^'  *^''  "" 

restt™  thVw^rll""'"  ""'  "'''=  "»  ''^^^  "-en  of 
'•Exactly  so."  he  agreed,  his  thoughts  still  „n  one  of 
Mr  Sab.ne's  specimens  that  he  would  dearly  ike  to  own 
timel      ^    '    ""  ^"'  ""■  ^"  "''"king  aloud,  "it  s^^eJ 

You're  thmking of  the  two  we've  just  left?"  he  asked 

than'^^hat'wete'CiJr  ^"^''^"^  "^  °^  ^^ 
.   ^'^  ^^^>  ™t  'ts  easy  to  euess  that  if  t^L. 

SSfr  7^'^/''  --^r  -•'^e:p,et;oX 

98 


FOSSILS 


June  morning,  but  my  uncle  took  me  down  to  the  wharf 
because  the  captain  was  bringing  me  my  first  trout  rod. 
"Mr.  Dorval  was  on  board  and  everyone  was  laughing 
and  telling  the  news,  when  I  oaught  sight  of  such  a  for- 
lorn group.  Mrs.  Sabine  -  is  standing  quite  still  with  a 
child  about  a  year  old  in  he.  arms  and  Esther  huddled  up 
against  her,  a  solemn,  frightened-looking  mite  in  the 
daintiest  of  clothes. 

"I've  sometimes   thrught  that   neither   she   nor  her 
mother  have  ever  had  such  clothes  since,  as  they  wore 
then.    Child  as  I  was,  something  in  Mrs.  Sabine's  face 
made  me  think  of  all  my  saddest  story-books,  and  I  won- 
dered if  she  were  some  queen  hiding  from  cruel  enemies." 
"Queens  weren't  bothered  by  extradition  laws,"  Noel 
said  significantly,  but  she  let  the  hint  pass,  and  went  on : 
"Mr.  Sabine  was  fussing  about  in  a  helpless  way,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  a  nice-looking  little  boy  of  six  or  seven. 
Uncle  was  just  going  ashore  when  Mr.  Dorval  said:  'I 
think  I'll  wait  and  give  a  helping  hand  to  those  people 
who  seem  a  bit  astray.'    Presently,  we  saw  him  driving 
them  all  up  to  the  hotel— an  awfully  dirty  hole  it  was 
then,  kept  by  a  French  woman— and  theic  they've  stayed 
ever  since." 
Noel  seemed  interested  in  this  retrospective  stream. 
"And  when  did  their  reign  begin?"  he  asked. 
"Not  for  two  years,  and  they  must  have  been  two  years 
of  dire  poverty  for  them.    That  first  summer  Tom  was 
working  for  his  McGill  entrance  exam  and  was  awfully 
disgusted  when   Mr.  Dorval  suggested  Mr.  Sabine  as 
tutor  for  him  and  another  boy,  but  when  they  found  what 
a  good  German  scholar  he  was,  they  got  up  a  class  among 
all  the  young  folks  here.    I  think,  too,  I  heard  that  Mr. 
Dorval  used  to  read  with  him  in  the  winter,  but,  of 
course,  the  second  summer  when  we  came  back  and 

99 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

found  the  French  woman  had  died  and  the  Sabines  were 
running:  the  hotel.  Mr.  Sabine  wa.  too  busy  to  teach 

rl'Tr/h,"  '"\"*l'"  .''■''"'*•    ^  '«"«'"'-'  hearing 
the  money  for  them  to  buy  it." 
"And  they  made  it  a  success?"  Noel  asked. 
Oh,  yes.     It's  the  best  hotel,  in  a  plain  wav    from 

Of  sportsmen  come  m  the  autumn  for  the  shooting  " 
And  the  young  lady  ?" 

"She  helps  her  mother,  who  is  the  mainspring  of  the 
thmg     I  don't  fancy  Mr.  Sabine  has  ever  done  much 

-aW'^"'-    She's  a  splendid  girl,  Esther." 
And  she  s  here  all  winter?" 

•way."""^*'  ~-    ^*  '**»*'  ^  "«^«'  heard  of  her  goi..g 

"It's  a  dull  life  for  a  girl." 

»  "J'^iJ  *f *  *'''"'''"^  '°"*'y  ■'  "^ht  be  a  good  thing 
If  Mr.  Dorval  would  marry  her." 

But  Noel  did  not  seem  to  agree  with  her. 
w«.  M'tV  ''?[•  .'"''''"«-«»«<'  business  man  like  that 
«^V       u        ""P™^"""'  for  her,"  the  young  man 
urged  from  his  masculine  standpoint 

hi,"S  7f^u°'\°^  r"'^'  ^"^  ^''y''  ^''"^^'  "  fortune 
his  uncle  left  him  lately,  and  he  needn't  stay  on  here  un- 
less he  choose     In  fact,  they  all  wonder  why  he  does. 

IIJ"  M  ^;'  "  *  ''"'"'=*  °*  "'*'"«  *e  world,  .-  any 
rate,    Mrs.  Tcm  persisted. 

"A  doubtful  privilege,"  Noel  objected  obstinately 

h.ilr^""!'""^,.'*'"''*  ^"  S"'''"*  'J^^*  home  in  her 
buckboard.  her  slmi,  gray-cl.d  figure  alertly  erect    the 

«nlr'.h  **P'"t'f "^^"'"d  setting  disposed  in  a  basket 
^!!L^*  !r  .^'  ''"'  '"'™*^ '"  t°  tbe  stable,  Mr.  Sabine 
fidgetted  oflf  to  the  post-office,  and  Esther  understood  that 

lOO 


FOSSILS 


iha  wif  left  to  settle  matters  for  herself.  Her  heart 
beat  a  little  faster  as  Mrs.  Sabine  sat  down  wearily  in  a 
big  rocking-chair.  She  was  a  slightly  built  woman, 
though  with  a  suggestion  of  tempered  steel  in  her  deli- 
cate make.  Thee  had  always  been  curiously  little  of  the 
feminine  intimacy  of  mother  and  daughter  between  the 
two,  though  they  worked  together  without  the  jars  which 
sometimes  accompany  household  intimacy. 

"You  look  tired.  Shall  I  get  you  a  glass  of  milk?" 
Esther  asked,  with  a  glance  at  the  dark  head  resting 
against  the  red  cushion. 

"No,  thanks.  Mrs.  Dane  insisted  on  making  tea  for 
me.  A  wearisomely  talkative  woman.  I  had  to  listen  to 
the  whole  story  of  the  death  of  her  sister's  two  children 
at  Easter." 

Esther  understood  the  tired  droop  now.  She  remem- 
bereJ  clearly,  although  it  was  never  spoken  of,  the  time 
that  her  mother  had  lost  two  children  by  diphtheria 
shortly  after  they  had  come  to  live  in  Lans^  Louise  seven- 
teen years  ago. 

"We  had  visitors,  too,"  she  said  hastily,  to  divert  the 
other's  thoughts.  "Mrs.  Tathem  and  a  man  who  is  with 
them  were  here.  She  was  sorry  not  to  see  you.  Only 
think — "  her  voice  trembled  before  she  took  the  plunge — 
"She  asked  me  to  go  'round  in  the  IVenonah  with  them 
to  Perce  to-morrow  for  a  day  or  two." 

"I  suppose  you  said  it  was  impossible,"  Mrs.  Sabine 
responded  without  troubling  to  turn  her  head  toward  her 
daughter. 

Esther  gulped  down  her  first  taste  of  disappointment 
and  stuck  to  her  point  with  a  new  courage. 

"Father  seemed  to  think  I  might  go.  Onlv  he  said 
that  I  had  better  wait  and  ask  you." 

'Your  father  would  always — "  Mrs.  Sabine  flashed  out, 

lOI 


i 


"Why  should  you  want  tn  t,-     vl 
are  so  different  from    "„ J  'l!'*  r"'"  ^''°'«  «-" 
«"th  them  must  only  male  ,fh"  ^"  ^°"  ^^-^  ^"^  do 
wards?"  '  "'*''«  "  harder  for  you  after- 

f 'Xrfol  pSpn:?  r  'f --S  of  her  lot 
the  almost  msUncth^„li-^T f       ,  '^'  '"'  "'«=  '"'«nse, 
^  "But  I  rf„  want  tl"  she  b5„.  '  "'^"'"^^  '«'^«  'ts  way 
hard  it  is  afterward^  IcL'  tarT  ,"'  '°"'*  «^^  ^ow 
h't  of  enjoyment.     Moth?"  It  "'"*  ""'  '""'« 

wust  have  had  more-."  '"  ^°"  *^'«  yo"ng  yo„ 

o«;LXTLe'i\s:  tit??."^--  '''^  y""-- 

not  know  you  cared  so  muT"  ^'  "'^'-    ^  did 

^'^^^'SZ:^:,^^  "^  -"P"--  in  at- 
"I  won't  go  if  you  mir^  .  "    u  °"'  "^'"'""• 
Mrs.  Sabfne  answerT.'l/''^  ^1"  "'^"'y- 
to  indifference :  "  ''"^  "^"*'  ^«=e.  quiet  ahnost 

"Why  should  I  mind?    Afw,,,  .., 

'"P-    Is  Vir^nia  Holbeach  "  ^  '  ? "J"  t '^^ '^^  ^'^ 
place  resumed  its  reign.  ^      *"'^  **  common- 


CHAPTER  XII 


OFF  PERCtf 

THE  Angelus  had  not  yet  sounded  from  the 
spire  of  the  French  Church  on  the  bluflf, 
when  the  Wenonah  sped  past,  her  party  aug- 
mented by  four. 

"We'll  be  packed  like  herrings  in  a  barrel,"  grumbled 
Cecily  Tathem,  who  liked  to  have  plenty  of  room  for  her 
clothes. 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter  for  a  day  or  two !  What  does 
anything  matter  so  long  as  we're  not  sea-sick?"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Tom,  cowed  by  her  great  enemy. 

The  points  enclosing  the  Basin  were  left  behind  and 
the  yacht  followed  the  long  curve  of  the  channel  that 
would  take  her  round  the  Hghthouse  on  the  end  of  the 
bar,  and  on,  fifteen  miles,  to  the  open  Gulf. 

The  hills  were  of  an  incomparable  blue,  blurred  with 
purplish  horizontal  streaks,  shadows  of  drifting  wood 
smoke  from  the  big  lumber  mills.  The  water  rippled  un- 
der a  sea  breeze  that  brought  in  one  or  two  brown-sailed 
fishing-boats  before  it.  It  was  an  ideal  time  for  setting 
forth  on  a  holiday. 

The  group  on  the  deck  was  already  pairing  off  in  the 
form  it  was  likely  to  retain.  Cecily's  discontent  had  soon 
faded  at  sight  of  Giles  Holbeach's  correct  yachting  garb 
and  air  of  mild  superiority.  She  was  not  long  in  finding 
that  he  was  intimate  with  some  dear  friends  in  Cannes 
villas  and,  with  deck-chairs  bestowed  in  a  sheltered 
•  103 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


corner,  they  discoursed  on  the  lost  joys  of  that  charmed 
orbit,  Giles  even  forgetting  his  note-book,  and  the  names 
of  headlands  and  mountains  to  be  accumulated  therein. 
Esther  and  Virginia  were  camped  on  a  rug  near  the 
rail,  bareheaded  to  the  sun  and  wind.  To  them  Noel  had 
brought  a  work  on  fossils  to  show  Esther  some  of  her 
treasures  classified,  while  Hugh  Tathem  and  Virginia 
had  their  heads  close  together  over  a  fly-book. 

Virginia's  navy  blue  serge  with  its  broad  white  sailor 
collar  gave  her  the  air  of  a  fifteen-year-old  school  girl, 
and  there  was  a  blitheness  in  her  voice  that  matched  the 
youthfulness  of  her  dress. 

"The  y6ung  folks  have  sorted  themselves  out  quickly  " 
Mrs.  Tom  said  to  Mr.  Holbeach,  with  an  encompassing 
benevolent  glance.  She  liked  to  pose  as  though  her  four 
years  of  matronhood  had  been  fourteen. 

Mr.  Holbeach's  eyes  followed  hers,  and  their  expres- 
sion was  enigmatic. 
"Evidently,"  he  agreed  in  non-committal  fashion. 
"Now,  Nan,  stick  to  your  photographs  and  don't  you 
be  up  to  any  of  your  match-making  tricks,"  her  husband 
adjured  her  the  next  time  he  caught  her  alone.  "It 
struck  me  the  fly-book  business  didn't  exactly  fit  in  to 
Holbeach's  scheme  of  action.  His  polite  smile  had  a 
chill  on,  when  you  called  his  attention  to  it." 

"I  never  meant  anything,"  the  lady  indignantly  pro- 
tested. 

"I  know  you  didn't,  but  then  it  isn't  everyone  knows 
what  a  delightfully  irrevelant  creature  you  are." 

His  hand  on  her  shoulder  turned  the  words  into  a 
caress. 

"Don't  call  names,  Tom.  But  you  don't  think  he  means 
that  dried-up  little  prig  for  Virginia,  do  you?" 

"Meaning  cousin  Giles  ?  Well,  yes,  I  think  it  looks  Kke 
104 


OFF  PERCfe 


It  Perhaps  he  wants  her  to  have  a  right  to  the  name, 
you  know,"  he  added  in  a  lowered  voice. 

"Poor  girl  I" 

Mrs.  Tom  was  lying  down  in  her  cabin  as  a  precau- 
tionary measure  against  the  long  swell  with  which  the 
open  Gulf  received  them,  and  her  husband,  never  far 
from  her  side  on  a  holiday,  was  lounging  on  the  sofa. 

"Tom !"  came  again.  "Do  you  think  Hugh  and  Cecily 
know  ?" 

"About  her?  I'm  pretty  sure  they  don't.  /  never  did, 
until  that  time  I  was  in  England  after  we  were  engaged, 
when,  as  you  know,  I  met  Holbeach  in  Piccadilly  and 
he  asked  me  down  to  his  place  for  Whitsun.  Lady 
Warrenden's  full-blown  splendor  was  a  revelation  to  me, 
also  her  acknowledged  intimacy  with  my  host.  The  first 
night  at  dinner  the  lady  next  me  spoke  of  him  as  an  un- 
married man,  and  I  took  the  chance  to  ask  casually  if 
he  were  not  a  widower.  She  ridiculed  the  idea,  so,  of 
course,  I  kept  my  own  counsel,  bul  when  I  came  home  I 
questioned  my  father  who  said  he  had,  from  the  first, 
taken  the  state  of  affairs  for  granted.    I  only  told  you 

because  you  seemed  fond  of  the  poor  child " 

"So  I  ami" 

"I  know.  Some  day  we  may  have  a  chance  to  help 
her.  But  I  shouldn't  think  of  telling  Hugh  or  Cecily  un- 
less it  were  necessary." 

"You  mean  if  Hugh  were  to  fall  in  love  with  Vir- 
ginia ?" 

"He's  in  love  with  her  now,  but  then  he  always  is 
with  someone  or  other.  If  it  became  serious,  I  should 
tell  him,  or  if  Cecily  showed  signs  of  considering  Hol- 
beach as  possible  prey." 

"Good  gracious,  Tom!  How  can  you  suggest  any- 
thing so  dreadful  I    Cecily  would  never " 

105 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


"I  expect  she'd  swallow  more  than  that  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  a  place  like  Holbeach  Manor.  And  remember, 
he  is  an  attractive  man,  barely  fifty,  if  that." 

"Yes,  but  think  of  Virginia's  mother  and  Lady  War- 
renden,"  she  protested. 

"I  don't  mean  I'd  like  it,  but  still,  Holbeach  is  a  good 
fellow.  I  doubt  if  anyone  knows  of  half  the  people 
about  here  to  whom  he  has  secretly  given  a  helping  hand. 
So  don't  get  on  your  moral  high  horse,  please,"  he 
answered  from  his  masculine  standpoint. 

"Of  course,  I  won't.  All  the  same,  I  almost  wi  ,,  we 
hadn't  ask^d  them  to  come." 

"Nonsense  I  Don't  you  worry.  Hugh  and  Cecily  are 
quite  able  to  look  out  for  themselves.  See,  it's  as  smooth 
as  a  mill-pond  now.  We  must  be  under  Bonaventurc 
Island.    Come  on  deck  and  see  what's  going  on." 

Tom  was  right.  Mai  Bale  was  crossed,  and  the  yacht 
had  rounded  in  under  the  lee  of  a  long  green  island, 
while  right  in  front  of  them  towered,  sheer  from  the 
waves,  a  great  detached  square  of  rock,  its  base  fretted 
into  an  arch  framing  the  blue  water  beyond,  its  flat  top 
crowned  by  a  noisy  mass  of  nesting  sea-birds. 

The  smooth,  richlv  tinted  sides  of  the  rock  glowed  a 
golden  umber  in  the  level  sunshine.  Beyond  it  lay  the 
curve  of  shore  with  its  anchored  fishing-boats,  its  row  of 
white  houses  and  sheds,  while  above  rose  steep  meadow 
slopes  to  meet  the  thickly  wooded  hills  with  fantastic  out- 
lines edging  the  sky.  One  detached  hill,  almost  over- 
hanging the  shore  settlement,  was  crowned  with  a  great 
black  cross  and  shrine,  and  to  this  a  winding  road  marked 
by  stations  of  the  cross  could  be  seen  rising.  Basking 
in  the  afternoon  sunshine,  sheltered  in  the  cup  of  the 
hills,  the  little  white  houses  faced  the  great  solitude  of 
the  northern  Gulf  with  an  air  of  cheerful  peace.  Every- 
io6 


OFF   PERCfi 


one  had  forgotten  his  diversions  in  the  interest  of  the 
scene,  for  those  who  knew  the  place  best  had  not  been 
there  for  a  year  or  more,  though  only  to  Giles  and  Noel 
was  it  altogether  new. 

In  answer  to  the  former's  queries,  why  Perc<  should 
have  a  shrine  and  Lanse  Louise  none,  Mrs.  Tom  ex- 
plained : 

"I  think  in  Canada  we  take  our  nationalities  in  streaks 
like  bacon.  This  place  and  Mai  Baie  are  French ;  round 
the  corner  there's  Douglastown,  a  Scotch  settlement, 
while  Lanse  Louise,  in  spite  of  its  name,  is  Protestant 
Jersey.    I  daresay  it's  perplexing  to  a  stranger." 

"Very,"  Giles  agreed,  with  a  disapproving  air. 

How  was  any  one  to  write  a  book  about  a  country 
stretching  over  a  continent,  and  with  characteristics 
•changing  every  twenty  miles  i" 

But  Tom  was  pointing  to  a  streak  of  golden  sand  un- 
der the  arch,  and  along  the  sheer  base  of  the  rock. 

The  tide  was  out  and  now  was  the  time  for  those  who 
wanted  to  land  there.  A  boat  was  lowered,  and  Mrs. 
Tom  and  the  girls  were  helped  down. 

"I'm  going  to  prowl  about  in  the  dinghy  with  a  gun, 
on  the  chance  of  getting  a  rare  bird,"  Tom  announced. 
"Want  to  row  me,  Hugh  ?" 

No,  Hugh  explained  with  cheerful  assurance,  he 
tliought  he'd  land  and  help  Noel  grub  'round. 

Mr.  Holbeach  volunteered  for  his  host's  society  and 
the  others  were  pulled  to  the  rock. 

At  their  approach  the  clamor  above  redoubled  and 
clouds  of  bird  hovered  overhead  as  though  defending 
their  fortress  irom  the  intruders. 

"I  should  have  thought  the  easiest  way  to  get  speci- 
mens would  be  to  climb  the  rock,"  said  Giles  conversa- 
tionally. 

107 


_    MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

J  far  Ira"  if  "''*'''  ^  '  'P*""""  y°"»^f  ^^or.  you 
^  far.  and  ,f  you  survived  the  process,  you'd  be  ar- 

lives  wer^lT'^"  '""  «°*  "P  *««•  ""d  after  some 
lives  were  lost,  the  attempt  was  forbidden.  So  vou  s« 
Ae  birds  can  afford  to  cheek  us.'  explained  Hugh  who 

ifan  SJif "  '  -^-^-P'""-  disHlce  to  the  Ing.Tsh- 
^.    H.S  fellow-countrymen  who  loved  this  land  of  big 

Sre„rZ  r"  ^'"'-'''"'"t'd  forests  were  of  a  ve  y 
different  type  from  this  trim  townsman.  ^ 

The  boat  touched  the  shore  and  the  little  party  scat- 
tered along  the  amber  strip  left  bare  by  the  tWe     G  Ss 
and  Cecily  sought  out  the  dryest  and  cleanest  rock  avaH 
ctdedlS™!  *''""'^"  *^^*  *""*  theTady  pri 
rav,^f'  ■  ,     ^  "^'"^  *  '™'"°'"'  She  basked  in  the 

»..!  w-  •  ^!     *>  ^""P''^  <^'^«^"«  *hich  was  her  char 

sSe  oMhe  n  ^'.N^' *~"^h  ^^e  arch  to  the  "tier 
side  of  the  rock,  where  she  and  her  father  had  been 
lucky  in  their  search  for  fossils 

tiofof  heTn*"?i  *~"'^  '^""«  •••'  »""<»>"'=ed  inten- 
se lat^^  ""^     '™'  '*"*  '°  ^«-  T°«  »»d  Virginia. 
f,r.     "!'o*'"'  '"  *  °'°°''  °f  childlike  glee.     Her 

sS'/:.'""  .^"f /'■""'"  •'»*'  »««»  -""re  of^  nervous 
s  ram  than  she  had  guessed  at  the  time.  Now  freed 
from  that  responsibility  in  the  kindly  society  of  tL     he 

i:'s^zj"^  ''''"^'  ^"^  -^-<'«<'  "•'^  a  fl::e: 

Roaming  around,  they  explored  the  rocky  ledges  find- 
ing queer  seaweeds  and  egg  shells  fallen  from  fhe'cSgs 

Ss   an7v'   -''  '^T''"^  ""'*  P°°'^  '^^"g  the 

tfon    soon  h!7'!!"'  "".'""^  *°  "'•=  "'''  =''"<^'^''  t«"Pta- 

2e  f«t  into  th  '  '^""''"^^  °*'  ^*="*''""^  «'™- 

wnite  teet  into  the  crisp  wavelets. 

1 08 


OFF   PERCfi 


"Come  on,  Mrs.  Torn!  Do  try  it!"  she  urged.  "It's 
icy  cold  and  send.s  tingles  all  over  you." 

It  is  only  for  a  few  summer  weeks  that  those  Gulf 
waters  are  ever  really  warm,  and  those  weeks  were  yet 
to  come. 

Hugh  had  rolled  up  his  white  trousers  and  was  wading 
beside  Virginia. 

"Keep  still  a  bit,"  Mrs.  Tom  ordered,  "I  want  to  get 
a  companion  picture  to  Cecily  and  her  friend  on  their 
perch  over  there.  I  might  label  them  'Gentility'  and 
'Vagabondism.'  I  don't  .see  why  you  need  hold  Virginia's 
hand,  though,  Hugh." 

"She  might  slip  on  the  seaweed  and  get  soaked,"  was 
the  unabashed  answer.  Hugh  had,  from  the  first,  been 
scheming  to  get  a  photo  of  himself  and  Virginia  to- 
gether, a  photo  which  he  meant  to  steal  from  Mrs.  Tom. 

It  was  thus,  standing  hand  in  hand,  bareheaded,  with 
laughing  faces,  their  feet  in  the  water,  that  Holbeach 
saw  them  as  the  dinghy  came  round  the  rock,  saw  them 
with  a  sudden  sense  of  helplessness  in  his  attempt  at 
arranging  his  daughter's  future. 

The  thought  of  her  as  mistress  of  his  English  home, 
with  a  right  to  bear  the  family  name,  had  been  a  won- 
derful salve  to  his  conscience  of  late  years. 

The  sight  of  Virginia  after  eighteen  months  or  more, 
an  eventful  period  at  nineteen,  had  satisfied  any  doubts 
as  to  her  being  fit  for  the  position  he  coveted  for  her. 
Fair  of  face,  graceful,  sweet-voiced,  with  a  quick  re- 
sponsiveness of  intellect — what  could  any  man  ask  more 
in  a  well-dowered  bride? 

But  what  use  was  all  this  if  Virginia  did  not  fancy 

the  good  things  he  had  chosen  for  her,  if  Giles  would 

not  take  the  trouble  to  attract  her  with  them?    A  chill 

sense  of  failure  depressed  him  for  a  moment,  then,  with  a 

109 


;|i 


i!  :f! 


MARCUS   HOLBFAPH's   DAUGHTER 

detemjination  of  optimism  he  scanned  Hugh's  well-built 
form  h„  jo„y,  .,„,dy  f  ^.^^  lower  jaw  ^iJ' 
mg  determination,  the  face  above  which  Xd^" 
c«,pped  thick  red  hair  rose  like  a  halo    He  k« w  5S 

illiif  "*"'  "•'"^^''  ^'"-'  -*  Virgin^fS 
.     It  looks  as  though  Fate  were  lending  Violet  a  hrfn- 

I»t  .  poo,  ihioB  ,o  ,^^,  ,.„„,  „?,"«"■■    '""  ™ 

"ifc.od'ht"''^"'  "ti,*T  """  *"•  "  *■■*  ■" 
«tiii  mo,     •     •/  "*  ^'*  Srave  words  and  the 

St  U  more  significant  silence  of  the  Harley  Street  swdal- 
^t  whom  he  had  consulted  this  spring,  teth  Z'^^t 
*  n  house  m  order  "  came  back  to  him.  and  he  ^hS 
for  the^many  good  days  past,  for  the  few  poor  onef  re 

Then  he  took  a  sudden  resolution.    He  would  not  be 

JTu    .•?    *  ^""'''y  "'^n  he  had  done,  and  if  thai 

so  openly,  and  some  other  would  be  found.    He  was  vet 

a   ionrhr  ""^  '^  "'  '"«  '°^-'  "^"'t  of  hTso^ 

an  actoHn  th?'  ''''T.'  *°  ""  '"  """^"^^^  «*'«««'  of 
an  actor  m  the  game  of  his  only  child's  destiny. 

IIO 


CHAPTER   XIII 


ST.  ANNE'S  SHRINE 

TO  Mrs.  Tom's  infinite  relief,  the  next  morning 
brought  serene  seas  and  skies.    Fishing-boats 
dipped  softly  on  the  blue  plain  and  wavelets 
rippled  at  the  base  of  the  rock  and  on  the 
shelving  cobble  beach  beyond.     The  only  unrest  in  the 
surrounding  blue  spaces  was  in  the  clamoring,  hovering 
hordes  of  sea-fowl. 

Nature's  benign  aspect  so  cheered  the  lady  of  the 
yacht  that  she  made  haste  to  organize  a  party  to  climb 
to  St.  Anne's  pilgrimage  shrine  on  its  hill-top. 

Neither  Esther  nor  Virginia  had  ever  been  so  far,  and 
were  eager  to  go,  but  Cecily  Tathcm  announced  her  pref- 
erence for  a  quiet  morning  on  board.  If  she  had  thought 
that  Giles  might  keep  her  company,  she  was  disappointed, 
for,  Mr.  Holbeach  volunteering  to  show  him  the  village 
sights,  he  had  no  choice  but  to  acquiesce. 

The  two  men  stood  near  the  landing,  watching-  the  last 
of  the  gay  little  party  as  th«y  followed  the  steep  up- 
ward path. 

"It's  good  to  be  young,"  Holbeach  said  with  an  un- 
wonted echo  of  regret  in  his  voice. 

"For  a  man,  I  think  the  thirties  are  better  than  the 
twenties.  One  has  learned  to  appreciate  the  savor  of  life 
by  then."  returned  the  man  who  had  never  known  the 
dreams  or  rash  impulses  that  are  the  better  part  of 
youth, 

III 


_    MARCUS   HOLBEACH'^:    DAUGHTER 

frirnrf."  K  J  *^  ""*•  '°°'*  "P  some  of  my  old 
fnends  he  said,  and  forthwith  came  a  revelaZn  to 
Giles  of  a  new  side  of  his  cousins  character  *" 

Se^n^raf  tJ  ^"  '°^^  ^  ^^^''^^^ 
ened™!o'vSb.C  ''"""''  ""'  '°""^'"  ''"■^'"- 
Giles  could  not  quite  follow  their  French  the  Fr«,rh 
of  pre-RevoIution  Normandy,  but  he  could  nnt  f  Tf 
understand  the  heartiness  of  lir  greeting  '  """  '"'  "* 
sieurTt'"''  "?  **'■"''  ""*  ""^"  ^"s«d  'hat  the  Mon- 

r,itti:  fe  ^d-r  °""'  "^  -  "-^^  *"'  -"t-^f 

A,  J?'  '""'  '^'""  ''  '"°''=  ""  Monsieur  de  Lanse  Louise 
I?H  /h  '^'  "^  ^"^  ^'^"^-  M's  fether  ow^s  the  m", 
"as  *hSS  "''!r  '  "".  ""'  '^  s'-«-"rom  o"  ! 
^sian  stth  "'''  ^"'^'  "'"'^•^^  "•"  W^  Po'-hed 
"But  no  never  a  stranger  on  these  shor-s  I  Mv  «.„wn 
boys  were  babies  „hen  you  first  came  amongsf  us*^  1 

reaSng  '  ^°"''"""'    ^^■*'  ^''^  »'<•  "«"  with 

;;Ah,  and  what  do  you  hear  from  Louis  now?" 

112 


ST.   ANNE'S   SHRINE 


listless  man  of  the  world  playing  a  part,  Giles  wondered, 
with  the  instinctive  doubt  of  hi<  mind,  or  could  this  be, 
by  chance,  his  real  nature  revealed  ? 

Along  the  street  came  a  burly,  swarthy  priest  in 
weather-beaten  cassock,  and  like  a  great  bull  he  charged 
down  on  them  with  benevolent  thunder  of  voice,  and  with 
a  hand-grasp  that  numbed  Giles'  arm. 

"The  good  comer  of  the  springtime,"  was  his  greet- 
ing. "Fafher  LeMoyne  shall  pay  me  a  pound  of  the  best 
snuflF  for  this.  Last  year  when  we  failed  to  see  you,  he 
swore  you  would  come  no  more,  that  in  the  great,  rich 
world.  Id  bas,  you  had  tired  of  your  poor  friends,  hidden 
here  between  the  Gulf  and  the  hills  I  But  we  knew  better 
than  that,  eh,  my  sons  ?" 

An  obedient  chorus  answered  him,  for  the  big  priest 
was  dispenser  of  the  affairs  of  two  worlds  to  the  fisher- 
folk.  Nothing  would  content  this  worthy  ruler  of  his 
flock  but  that  they  must  go  with  him  to  the  Presbytire 
and  have  a  glass  of  Chartreuse. 

"Or  Benedictine,  or  anisette,  those  I  can  still  oflEer 
you,"  he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  toward  an  old- 
fashioned  glass  cupboard  that  filled  one  corner  of  his 
bare,  clean  parlor. 

"Then  you  still  have  a  friend  or  two  in  St.  Pierre?" 
Holbeach  asked  with  a  significance  lost  on  Giles. 

"Ah,  but,  my  friend,  you  know  too  much.  You  must 
not  shock  this  gentleman,  your  nephew,  with  tales  of  our 
poor  little  doings.  These  new  cruisers  the  government  at 
Ottawa  have  sent  out  hardly  leave  a  poor  fisherman  a 
chance  to  get  in  a  few  bottles  of  liqueur  now-a-days  for 
those  who  love  the  drinks  of  old  France.  As  for  those 
poor  folk  of  the  French  islands,  they  are  in  misery,  true 
misery " 

'"«t  them  give  up  smufrgling  and  make  an  honest 

"3 


■  f' 


li^'ing  then,"  uid  Holbeach  decidedly  .„d  'gITZ 

understand  what  it  wa,  all  about  ^^'"  *•' 

He  sipped  hii  Chartreuse  with  iddeH  .«.       •     •       . 

«iJi.™  ri'iir  "V"'  ""'*■  ""C".,. 
ri:T£EHH?^^« 

jj  nois.  hirds.  and  at  the^Ji  £ ---  h^i;; 

yZ^.  see  that,"  said  Giles;  "I  had  no  idea  that 
"Could  make  myself  so  aereeable?"  th.  „,i. 

two^cars.  sJ^^rZLX^l^r..^^^^^^^ 

^:^:rLT  •"  "■'  ^""'  °' » ™''  'hootr^tri;  in 

protracteThonetl^      hV'"'  °^  "!  ""^'"  '»"'' 

>f«.    Every  tune  I  come  back,  the  Bluff  House  seema 
"4 


ST.   ANNE'S   SHRINE 


more  my  real  home.  I  believe  I  should  rather  look  my 
last  at  the  sky  here  than  in  England." 

Any  mention  of  the  realities  of  life  and  death  always 
made  Giles  uncomfortable.    He  felt  such  topics  ill-bred. 

"Don't  speak  of  such  things.  I  hope  there  is  no  need 
to  think  of  that  for  years  to  come,"  he  said  uneasily. 

He  did  not  see  the  smile  on  Holbeach's  face,  the  smile 
of  one  who  could  contradict  if  he  would. 

"No,  there's  no  need  to  speak  of  it  now,"  he  quietly 
agreed,  hearing  all  the  time  that  inward  voice  saying: 
"Set  thine  house  in  order,  for  thou  shall  surely  die  and 
not  live." 

They  smoked  in  silence,  the  rhythmic  rush  of  the  swell 
on  the  cobble-stones,  the  tinkle  of  cattle  bells  from  the 
hills,  and  the  cries  of  sea-birds  on  the  rock  seeming  to 
emphasize  the  stillness. 

"I  wonder  if  you've  begun  to  understand  the  reason 
I  brought  you  here?"  was  the  question  that  came  like  a 
bombshell  in  the  midst  of  Giles'  peaceful  meditations  over 
a  chapter  in  the  work  which  wrss  {.'rowing  alarmingly  in 
prospective  bulk. 

So  he  had  been  haled  to  this  hillside  for  the  open  dis- 
cussion that  he  had  so  long  foreseen  and  dreaded. 

"Here?"  he  stammered,  looking  vaguely  round.  "To 
see  the  place,  I  suppose."  This  supposition  gave  him  a 
minute  to  arrange  his  thoughts. 

"Here — to  Canada,  to  Lanse  Louise,  to  the  Bluflf 
House,"  the  other  quickly  corrected. 

Giles  was  ready  now,  and  began  with  a  modest  air  of 
conscious  merit : 

"Perhaps  I  could  hardly  help  supposing,  or  rather 
surmising — though  it  seemed  a  prestmiptuous  idea--   -  ■" 

"Never  mind  that,"  Holbeach  interrupted.  Giles  nad 
succeeded  in  making  him  take  the  initiative. 


"J 


i 


the  mist«ss  of  HolSTr "'       '  '"'  "^'^  "^^ 

JS;SeTtfafht'L*^^^^^  "r  ''""*'°"-    ^''-  "^"^ 
Ws  cousin's  plan-afte   S  it  °  thri  '"*  ^  ''^'^  ^'*'' 

So  he  answered  wW,  ev^r       *     ''^^^  '^'="  '^"^^e- 
^.jl  _  wth  every  appearance  of  ready  good 

-St  repugnant  to  n,e  totrfe  nj  e  fTnl^:  ^°"''  '^ 

-^^^i^i^^rSi"-"- 

your  headquarters  at  tht  Z  ^-^  ''''*y°"  *°  "a'^e 

up  in  its  old  ste  and  l  ,f  "m'  *'"'=''  ^""''^  f''  kept 
«ce  togetyouSopfrii^t'-  ""  ^"  "^  '°^^'  '"""- 

"Va„  =,  ,  *"^"'*'^  a  genuine  ring  of  sinceritv 

shall  fee.  myself  folua^e/eTd  M  "  ■"'""'"="'•    ^ 
Pnia  to  marry  me."  ''*"  Persuade  Vir- 

For  the  moment  he  meant  it.  Forgetting  th.  , 
of  awkward  questions  a«  tn  th  7  ,,  ^f  ""8:  the  prospect 
only  of  living  at  Holberrh  \  ^''^t  ^'""■'^'  ^^  "nought 
-  of  a  Parllmen""  ;  ''^'■;  ^Tt  °^  ^''e  prom- 
occasion  to  note  how  scruouln,,.,  I  '  ^^°'^  "°^'  "^^^ 
his  word.  scrupulously  his  cousin  always  kept 

«sSr:£'  tKir^'''  "'^^'^^  ''^  ^^^  -"-  -e 

ii6 


ST.    ANNE'S   SHRINE 


The  greei.  -^f  forest  and  blue  of  sea  stretched  out  be- 
low the  !  iooKtd  lik--  a  brightly  colored  map,  the  third 
color  su  plied  by  ihe  jeep,  rich  red  of  the  cliffs.  In  their 
youth  a,:rl  strensjth  hey  all  thought  more  of  the  joy  of 
the  summer  day  ih^n  of  that  type  of  woman's  extremest 
sorrow  whose  figure  crowned  the  hilltop. 

Hugh  had  taken  complete  possession  of  Virginia,  and 
Mrs.  Tom  hung  on  her  husband's  arm,  so  what  was 
there  for  Esther  and  Noel  in  the  narrow  road  but  to  pair 
off  together?  Esther  had  at  first  felt  that,  being  brought 
there  for  the  purpose  of  talking  fossils  to  Noel,  it  was 
her  duty  to  talk  of  nothing  else. 

Bravely,  though  with  a  slight  sense  of  fatigue,  she 
stuck  to  her  subject,  describing  hers  and  her  father's 
finds  in  different  localities. 

Presently,  she  found  that  he  was  waxing  discursive, 
and  branching  out  into  his  experiences  on  various  ex- 
peditions, one  to  Hudson's  Bay,  another  into  the  Rockies 
of  northern  British  Columbia.  She  felt  a  little  glow  of 
success  in  the  fact  of  his  taking  the  trouble  to  entertain 
her,  together  with  the  interest  she  always  gave  to  talk 
of  the  big  outside  world. 

After  their  steep  climb  they  had  sat  down  to  rest. 
There  were  no  trees  on  the  smoothly  sloping  sides  of  the 
pilgrimage  hill,  nothing  but  grass,  closely  cropped  by 
grazing  sheep,  but  up  here,  with  the  wind  sweeping  in 
from  miles  of  northern  sea  to  gulleys  of  forested  hills 
beyond,  there  was  no  need  of  shelter  from  the  June  sun. 

Esther  was  bareheaded,  and  the  wind  stirred  her  crisp 
bronze  hair  as  though  it  loved  it.  A  creature  of  those 
great  healthy  spaces  of  sunshine  and  wind  she  seemed  to 
the  man  beside  her,  and  all  at  once  he  saw  a  vision  of 
her  as  mate  to  one  who  had  chosen  the  waste  places  of 
the  earth  for  his  heritage.    It  was  the  first  time  he  had 

"7 


i 


:1i 


-   MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DATrr,»TPo 

anyway,  ,t's  got  to  be  something  big     tS„   wLn     ~ 
once  got  my  hands  on  it  I'll  found  a  small  k^.H  -"u 

settlers.    I'll  „,ake  myself  a  home  therTinH  f  ^  ""f 
for  whom  the  wilderness  has  no  terror^     L       '  Z''^ 

c  J.  in  th\ro7oirdrm%tr ''"^"^'^  °--'' « 

future  home  and  wif^    At  tw^n  "!     T  '  """^  °^  •"■' 

of«fe.ea„the:::::at;;:ra:^-::2f"' 

a  tnp  to  London  and  Paris  or  even  New  York^^ 

Oh  yes.    We-II  go  to  some  of  those  places  every  year 
n  the  opera  season.    Music  is  about  the  best  thln^J^ 
ization  can  give  one."  '"^  "^•'- 

Esther  pondered  this  new  phase. 
ii8 


ST.   ANNE'S   SHRINE 


I  ve  never  heard  an  opera,"  she  said  regretfully,  then 
Hushing  at  her  unasked  introduction  of  the  personal  note 
she  went  on  hastily:  "But  I  thought  you  belonged  to  the 
sort  of  people  who  have  the  opera  without  finding  dia- 
mond mines.  Was  it  only  chaflf  all  that  talk  of  Hugh 
lathems  about  the  millionaire's  son?" 

Noel  looked  in  no  way  disturbed  by  this  frank  ques- 
tiomng.  ^ 

"No,  my  father's  a  millionaire,  all  right,  but  he  and  I 
don  t  see  life  through  just  the  same  spectacles.  I  want 
to  make  my  own  start  in  life.  I  want  to  be  an  ancestor 
instead  of  a  descendant.  I  want  to  work  as  I  please,  to 
live  and  marry  as  I  please." 

There  was  an  undoubted  earnestness  in  the  words 
*"..„^**""  ^'^"""^  curiously  into  his  face  before  saying- 
What  a  lot  of  wants  you  have !" 
"Well,  everyone  worth  while  does.    Don't  you?" 
"Oh,  lots.    But  they  seem  likely  to  stay  wants  '' 
Noel  turned  on  his  elbow  to  look  up  into  the  face  un- 
shadowed by  futile  longings,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  re- 
called Mrs.  Tathem's  words  about  Dorval. 

"How  can  you  tell?"  he  said.  "You've  plenty  of  time 
ahead  Have  you  never  been  away  from  Lanse  Louise 
at  all  ? ' 

"Oh,  yes,  once!"  She  laughed  a  bit  forlornly.  "Cap- 
tain Loisons  took  me  on  the  return  trip  up  the  Gulf  in 
the  Cfu>teauguay,  and  I  stayed  with  his  family  in  Quebec 
for  a  few  days.  It  was  rather  like  seeing  a  succession  of 
Lanse  Louises  all  the  way  up.  Still,  the  people  on  board 
were  fun." 

"And  the  people  jou  knew  in  Quebec?" 

"They  weren't  fu-  exactly.  I  only  knew  French 
people  and  they  seemed  to  spend  most  of  their  time  goinjr 
to  church."  ^ 

•  119 


;  iiiii:; 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

"That  wasn't  what  you'd  call  lively." 
"No  but  ?',e  loisons'  were  as  kind  as  they  could  be 
They  aw.ys  are.     Why,  when  Jack  LeRoy  got  back 
to  Quebc  half  starved   after  his  tramp   through  the 
woods,  iney  took  him  right  in  and  looked  after  him  " 

Noel  smiled  to  himself  to  see  how  entirely  she  took  it 
for  granted  that  everyone  must  know  of  Jack  LeRoy's 
m-fated  exped.t>on.  As  it  happened,  he  had  heard  the 
tale  on  the  IVenonah  where  Holbeach  and  the  Tathems 
had  discussed  it  and  its  bearings  on  the  future  Now 
he  was  mclmed  to  experimentalize  on  the  subject 

I  m  curious  to  get  p  sight  of  this  Jack  LeRoy,"  he 
said.  His  adventure,  seem  an  Homeric  epic.  I  v/onder 
It  he  11  start  out  again  on  the  long  trail." 
"Why  on  earth  should  he?"  she  demanded  quickly 
There  was  no  doubt  that  Esther  was  startled  by  the 
suggestion,  and  immediately  Noel  wondered  if  LeRov 
instead  of  Dorval  would  be  the  man  to  open  the  door 
mo  he  worid  for  her.  Well,  whichever  it  was.  he  was 
a  lucky  man,  he  decided. 

thJf'lu'!!^  r    ^>.  '''°"'''  '''■"  ^^  «&^^=<»'  =«!"&  that 
the  talked-of  expedition  was  still  a  well-kept  secret 

Just  then  Mrs.  Tom  hailed  them  with  a  reminder  of 
their  distance  from  luncheon,  and  the  homeward  move 
began. 

After  that  morning,  pairing  off  did  not  seem  so  simple 
a  process  as  before. 

In  the  after-lunch  lounge  on  deck  Giles  established 
himself  m  the  hammock-chair  besrde  Virginia,  and  con- 
scientiously tried  to  arouse  her  interest  in  his  morning's 
expenences.  He  was  proud  of  his  little  joke  about  the 
pnestly  liqueur  that  had  n'ver  paid  duty.  To  his  sur- 
prise, Virginia  looked  gra'  e. 

"Oh,  but  please."  she  said  nervously,  "you'd  better 
1 20 


ST.    ANNE'S   SHRINK 


not   alk  about  that.    You  see,  you  don't  know  who  the 
people  are  and  you  might  let  just  the  wrong  person  hear 
of  .^  and  >t  would  do  Father  LeMoyne  har^i" 
Gil«  !  l^"*/"-'"^  ^°"  ''°"'*  *PP'°^«  °^  his  smuggling'-. 

"Oh   but'  h'7.T  '°  ^""^  ''°"  scandalized^he  w'as. 
Oh,  but  he  didn't  smuggle  it  himself.     It  was  iust 
^e  poor  sailor's  present  to  him.  and  you  know  they  a 
pleaded  "^  *'*''  ""'  '"=  """^^  ''='™  '"  '»'"  ^he 

"Dear  me!"  was  Giles'  helpless  comment. 

iJuJ^'"^^  "^  '"'^'^  *"■■*= '°°  hopelessly  apart  and  he 
W    back  upon  tales  of  London  theaters  and'sho"     I 
was  not  easy  to  arouse  Virginia's  interest  in  the  latter 
Everythmg  she  wanted  in  the  way  of  dainty  clotWng  "ad 

Hui?  =.     ^'^     ^'^^^  ^°^'"&  ''•^"d'dly  sleepy  wh-„ 
Hugh  appeared  with  prints  of  yesterday's  photos    and 

E  tihei;  I'V'  '^  r'  ^"'''-'-' ^  *'-  «^^^^ 

looked  at  their  heads  so  close  together,  heard  their  little 

But  there  were  other  times  within  the  next  twentv 
four  hours  when  Giles  was  more  perseverfng  "^d  Sh' 
even  w.th  Mrs.  Tom's  help,  did  not  win  so  ef^y  a  vS' 

Then,  ,f  Virginia  found  herself  bored  by  her  coS 
she  was  apt  to  gel:  Esther  away  to  herselff  thereS  2' 
setting  more  than  one  little  arrangement.  ^  ^ 

121 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


isn 


The  Wenonah  had  turned  her  head  homeward  and 
about  sunset  she  rounded  the  lighthouse  bar  and  came  in 
sight  of  the  Basin  and  its  rim  of  white  houses  shining 
in  the  evening  light. 

"Oh,  there's  the  Bluff  House  I  I  wonder  if  Miss 
Creighton's  on  the  lookout  for  us?"  said  Virginia  in  a 
tone  befitting  a  month's  absence. 

"Why,  I  believe  you're  glad  to  be  back  again  I"  said 
Esther,  leaning  on  the  rail  beside  her. 

"Polite,  isn't  shel"  put  in  Hugh  in  an  injured  tone. 
Such  injury  was  a  luxury  he  seldom  indulged  in,  but 
when  he  did,  it  was  done  thoroughly. 

"Oh,  it 'wasn't  that,"  Virginia  explained  with  sudden 
confusion;  "but  then,  you  see,  it's  home,  and  the  dc^s 
and  Miss  Creighton.  Even  though  we  enjoyed  ourselves 
so  much,  it  will  be  nice  to  be  home  tonight,  won't  it, 
Esther?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  her  friend  soberly.  "You  see, 
for  me  it  means  a  lot  more — work,  for  instance." 

Noel  was  loitering  near,  listening,  and  somehow  he 
did  not  think  it  was  the  prospect  of  work  that  cast  that 
anticipative  shadow  over  the  girl's  face.  He  seemed  to 
have  fallen  into  a  way  of  seeing  Esther's  point  of  view. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


UP  THE  RIVER 

THE  next  day  Holbeach  and  his  daughter  set 
forth  betimes  into  a  shining,  dew-pearled 
morning  world.  Their  salmon  rods  showing 
at  the  back  of  the  buckboard  and  their  busi- 
ness-like attire  revealed  their  purpose. 

Holbeach  was  going  up  for  the  day  to  his  river,  to 
have  a  first  look  around,  preparatory  to  starting  for  his 
upper  camp,  and,  to  Virginia's  joy,  he  had  offered  to 
take  her  with  him. 

To  her  amazement,  and  to  her  father's  secret  relief, 
Giles  had  pleaded  important  letters  to  write.  Letters  I — 
when  one  was  under  thirty  and  the  river  called  one  I 

Holbeach,  being  a  clear-sighted  man,  was  beginning 
to  realize  the  flimsiness  of  his  air-castle  for  Vuginia's 
future,  and,  somehow,  that  realization  distressed  him  less 
that  he  should  have  expected.  Hugh  Tathem  was  the 
son  of  an  old  friend,  of  ample  means  for  the  limited 
career  he  had  chosen,  and  if  the  two  took  a  fancy  to  each 
other  there  would  be  little  to  complain  of. 

"Do  you  think  it's  possible  that  cousin  Giles  doesn't 
want  to  go  fishing?"  Virginia  asked  as  one  propounding 
some  awesome  heresy. 

"It  certainly  looks  like  it,"  Holbeach  acKnowledged 
with  a  laugh;  then,  in  attempted  excuse: 

"You  must  remember  that  there  are  a  good  many 
people  in  Enifland  with  more  important  work  to  do  in  the 
123 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


'A 

ii 


world  than  to  vagabondize  at  the  end  of  a  rod,  as  you 
and  I  do,  young  woman  I  Your  cousin  will  probably  entf 
by  being  a  big  man  some  day.  He's  a  hard  worker, 
which  I  never  was." 

"Is  he?"  she  answered  vaguely,  then  added  inconse- 
quently:  "I'm  glad  I  was  brought  up  here  instead  of 
in  England." 

"You're  sure  of  that?  You're  sure  you've  always  been 
content  here  in  Lanse  Louise?" 

She  altogether  failed  to  mark  the  earnestness  of  the 
question. 

"Of  course  I  am  I  Why  on  earth  shouldn't  I  be?"  she 
returned  in  cheerful  matter-of-factness. 

For  a  moijient  Holbeach  thought  only  of  his  satisfac- 
tion in  the  fact  that  at  least  he  had  given  her  a  happy 
childhood,  then,  realizing  that  it  might  suit  his  purpose 
presently  to  turn  her  desires  toward  England,  he  asked : 
"And  haven't  you  ever  thought  you  would  like  to  come 
and  see  where  I  lived  in  England  ?" 

Virginia's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  dismay  as  she  recalled 
Jack's  words :  "I  wonder  if  your  father  will  be  taking  you 
back  in  the  fall."  Somehow  it  did  not  seem  so  easy  to 
"just  tell  him  that  she  didn't  want  to  go." 

"Well,  you  see,  I've  never  known  what  it  would  be 
like — "  she  hesitated  with  an  anxious  glance  up  at  him. 
Holbeach  laughed  at  her  caution. 
"Oh,  one  place  is  pretty  much  like  another,"  he  said 
casually.    He  had  no  wish  to  start  anything  definite  yet, 
and  at  his  tone,  Virginia's  cheerfulness  returned. 

They  drove  on,  past  little  white  cottages  in  their  strips 
of  forest-reclaimed  fields,  to  the  head  of  the  Basin,  where 
the  York  river  drowsed  amongst  rich  marsh  grasses  be- 
fore joining  the  salt  water.  They  were  bound  for  the 
more  distant  St.  John,  and  so  followed  the  steep  hillside 
124 


UP   THE   RIVER 


road,  washed  into  gillies  by  melting  snows  of  spring-tide, 
through  dreary  regions  of  burnt  woods  where  the  bare 
gray-white  trees  raised  their  arms  like  protesting  ranks 
of  ghosts.  T-  was  not  yet  time  for  the  red  flower  of  the 
fire-weed,  which  alone  brightens  such  desolate  p' <ces. 
These  bairens  left  benind,  they  came  to  the  woods, 
punget  t  with  all  the  fresh  summer  growth.  In  mingled 
shadow  and  sunshine  a  floral  carpet  spread  under  the 
soaring  firs,  a  carpet  woven  of  ivory-white  sheets  of 
dwarf  cornel  blossoms,  intermixed  with  pink  fairy 
bells  of  the  linnea.  Above,  thickets  of  dark  spruce  were 
lightened  by  slim  branches  of  wild  pear  and  cherry 
blossom,  nature's  bridal  veil  of  lace-like  white  tracery. 
The  aromatic  scent  of  a  hundred  growing  things  was  in 
the  air,  and  the  robins'  spring  song  rang  high  above 
the  "duck-cluck"  of  the  woodpeckers  and  the  black- 
birds' sly  chuckle. 

Father's  and  daughter's  spirits  were  equally  attuned 
to  the  influence  of  their  surroundings,  and,  under  that 
influence,  the  slight  constraint,  that  had  sometimes  of 
late  come  between  them,  faded  away. 

Last  nic^ht  Virginia  had  lain  awake  longer  than  usual, 
wondering  how  her  father  would  treat  Jack,  and  how 
the  latter  would  bear  himself  in  his  new  position. 

Oh,  how  she  would  hate  it  if  her  father  failed  to  show 
that  he  remembered  the  boy,  for  whom  in  their  childish 
days  he  always  had  a  kind  word,  a  gift  of  flies  or  car- 
tridges, a  gift  that,  careless  as  it  was,  aroused  the  deep- 
seated  gratitude  of  a  child  whose  joys  were  few. 

She  need  not  have  worried.  Marcus  Holbeach  could 
never  have  held  the  place  he  did  with  French  fishermen 
of  the  shores  and  taciturn,  keen-eyed  hunters  of  the  in- 
land ranges,  hut  for  the  unfailing  memory  and  ready 
tact  which  were  the  outward  form  of  that  inward  grace 


125 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

of  a  kindly  interest  in  his  fellow-beings,  an  interest  which 
his  increasing  cynicism  toward  those  of  his  own  world 
only  seemed  to  deepen  when  he  found  himself  back 
among  these  forest  and  sea  folk,  with  whom  long  ago  he 
had  sought  shelter  from  remorseful  grief. 

The  road  degenerated  into  a  rough  track  through  the 
woods  that  encroached  on  it  with  overhanging  branches, 
with  creeping  undergrowth  that  the  wheels  crushed  down. 
But  rough  as  it  was,  they  left  it  for  one  still  more 
primitive,  turning  downhill  into  serried  ranks  of  spruce 
that  never  parted  until  a  glimpse  of  milky-green  water, 
an  all-pervading  murmur  of  sound,  told  that  they  had 
reached  their  destination. 

"Oh.  hear  it  I  The  river  I"  Virginia  said  with  a  little 
gasp. 

"Why,  what  an  Undine  you  are!"  her  father  com- 
mented, with  a  curious  glance  at  the  face  frv  m  which  the 
dreamy  aloofness  had  passed. 

On  the  river  bank  just  enough  trees  had  been  cleared 
to  leave  room  for  two  log  huts  that  almost  seemed  a 
part  of  the  forest  growth  in  their  sheathing  of  tawny 
birch-bark  nailed  on  to  the  logs,  and  with  crevices 
stuffed  with  bleached  bronze-green  swamp  moss.  Some- 
one must  have  been  on  the  lookout,  for,  though  their 
wheels  made  no  sound  on  the  moss,  the  horse  had  not 
stopped  before  Jack  LeRoy  was  striding  up  the  bank  to- 
ward them.  Czar  at  his  heels,  a  certain  solemnity  of  shy- 
ness restraining  the  gladness  in  his  eyes. 

Virginia  knew  at  a  glance  that  he  had  drilled  himself 
to  be  on  duty  and  that  she  must  not  interfere  with  his 
pose,  but,  oh,  how  satisfyingly  familiar  he  looked  with 
those  worn  lines,  that  haggard,  haunted  look  gone  from 
his  face.  He  was  tanned  and  lean  as  ever,  but  it  was  in 
the  normal  fashion  of  a  healthy  outdoot  existence.  The 
126 


UP   THE    RIVER 


wounds  left  by  his  life-and-death  struggle  with  the  wil- 
derness had  healed  and  he  was  himself  again. 

"So,  Jack,  you've  turned  guardian!  I  hope  you  like 
it'"  was  Holbeach's  friendly  greeting  as  he  reached  a 
hand  to  the  young  fellow. 

To  him  there  seemed  nothing  abnormal  in  the  situa- 
tion though  he  could  recall  days  of  equal  comradeship 
with  Jack's  father,  that  broken-down  Jersey  gentleman, 
who,  having  married  a  fisherman's  daughter  from  Stew- 
arttown,  the  Scotch  settlement  down  by  the  Barrachois, 
had  ended  his  profitless  days  in  Lanse  Louise.  This  com- 
radeship had  entailed  substantial  aid  given  in  those  last 
years  of  ill-health  and  poverty,  and  Holbeach  had  always 
intended  to  lend  Jack  a  helping  hand. 

But,  somehow,  the  necessity  never  seemed  to  come,  for 
Jack  had,  from  the  first,  a  fashion  of  falling  on  his  feet. 
Through  his  mother's  strenuous  toil  and  his  own  natural 
aptitude  he  had  won  enough  education  to  fit  himself  for 
the  craft  of  timber-scaling,  and  his  first  set-back  had 
been  the  failure  of  this  expedition  which  had  apparently 
opened  such  a  rosy  prospect  to  him. 

Jack's  well-shaped  hand  with  its  hardened  palm  of 
toil  met  Holbeach's  more  delicate  one  in  a  firm  clasp, 
and  the  bright  blue  eyes  greeted  him  with  frank  friend- 
liness. 

"I  guess  it  suits  me  all  right  for  the  present,  sir.  It's 
a  sort  of  rest  cure  I'm  taking,  you  see,"  he  responded, 
set  at  ease  by  the  other's  casualness.  He  did  not  doubt 
but  that  Mr.  Holbeach  knew  his  recent  history,  but  he 
was  glad  that  he  proffered  no  sympathy. 

There  was  a  quick,  shy  "Good  morning"  to  Virginia, 
but  their  interchanged  glance  was  their  real  greeting. 

Vii^nia  had  another  greeting  though.  As  she  jumped 
from  the  buckboard  and  stood  looking  with  satisfaction 


i»7 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


' 


from  the  forest  vistas  to  the  opening  by  the  bani<  and  the 
canoes  drawn  up  thereon,  Ciar  leaped  and  whined  around 
her  in  welcome. 

"Well,  we'll  try  the  rest  cure,  too!"  Holbeach  was  say- 
ing, when  he  noticed  the  dog.  "That's  a  fine  setter. 
He  seems  to  know  you,  Virginia." 

"Oh,  Czar  and  I  are  old  friends.  He  lived  at  the 
Bluff  House  all  the  time  his  master  was  away,  didn't  you, 
old  man  ?"  and  again  she  bent  her  head  over  the  dog. 

"Indeed  I"  and  it  seemed  to  Jack's  qOick  sensitiveness 
that  Holbeach's  comment  was  somewhat  dry,  but  nothing 
more  was  said  and  they  proceeded  to  the  business  of  the 
day.  With  three  people  who  knew  that  business  thor- 
oughly, matters  were  soon  settled. 

"You  had  better  fish  the  Owl's  Pool  from  a  canoe,  Vir- 
ginia. Jack  can  take  you,  while  LaGue  comes  up  the 
bank  with  me,"  Holbeach  decided,  his  motive  being  to 
leave  his  daughter  in  the  surest  hands. 

Jack  could  scarcely  believe  in  his  good  luck  in  being 
thus  intrusted  with  the  care  of  Virginia.  He  had 
planned  to  stand  carefully  aloof  and  this  was  the  blessed 
result.  From  the  fullness  of  his  grateful  heart  he  spoke 
as  Virginia  settled  herself  in  the  canoe : 

"I  declare,  it  does  one  good  to  see  your  father  'round 
again.  Nobody's  got  that  way  that  makes  you  feel  ready 
to  do  more'n  your  best  for  him,  like  he  has." 

A  few  deft  thrusts  of  Jack's  pole  took  the  wooden  canoe 
behind  an  island  point  into  a  shut-in  world  of  swift, 
agate-colored  water,  murmuring,  rippling  over  the  gravel 
into  nooks  and  crannies,  amongst  great  barriers  of  dead 
trunks  and  twisted  gray  roots,  while  overhead  the  rus- 
tling forest  walls  nearly  met  to  shut  out  the  softly  dappled 
sky. 

There  were  not  overmany  words  exchanged  between 
laS 


UP  THE    RIVER 


the  two,  but  Jack's  keen  eyes  softened  to  an  infinite  con- 
tent as  he  watched  the  slim  figure  in  its  clinging  dress  of 
rough,  white,  habitant  flannel,  and  Virginia,  savoring  the 
old  childish  delight  in  Jack's  strength  and  skill  as  a 
latent  force  behind  her,  put  her  whole  soul  into  her  con- 
genial task.  Deep  would  have  been  his  gloom  if  they  had 
returned  empty-handed,  but  presently  she  was  playing  a 
lively  ten-pounder  while  Jack,  grasping  the  gafT,  dropped 
terse,  urgent  words  of  advice,  his  heart  in  his  mouth  at 
every  silver  flash  or  wild  rush  threatening  loss.  Hearty 
was  his  breath  of  relief  when,  the  struggle  over,  the 
doomed  fish  hung  limp  on  his  gaff,  to  be  laid  out  re- 
spectfully on  spruce  boughs  in  the  canoe  bottom,  silverly 
resplendent  in  death,  an  aristocrat  of  nature  to  the  last. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  offer  to  take  the  rod  like  any  of 
the  others  might,"  Virginia  panted  triumphantly,  as  she 
knelt  upright,  her  hands  lightly  grasping  the  thwarts  of 
the  canoe. 

The  strain  of  the  fight  showed  in  her  flushed  face  and 
the  loosened  hair  that  blew  about  it.  At  times  like  this 
she  wore  her  dark  locks  hanging  in  a  heavy  braid,  as  in 
her  childish  days. 

"That's  because  I  know  you  better  than  those  others. 
There's  never  been  a  day  you  haven't  had  the  pluck  to 
hold  on  to  the  end,  even  when  you  were  a  little  kid." 

As  he  spoke  Jack  looked  up  from  where  he  siill 
crouched  over  the  vanquished  fish,  all  his  adoring  soul 
leaping  to  his  eyes.  It  was  thus  that  Marcus  Holbeach 
saw  the  two  as  he  strolled  down  the  opposite  bank,  saw 
the  new  glory  in  Virginia's  face,  the  tense  poise  of  Jack's 
figure,  and  understood  in  a  strange  mingling  of  bitterness 
and  sympathy.  To  a  man  who  had  known  women's  ways 
as  well  as  he  had,  the  dog's  welcome  had  been  a  hint  to 
which  the  rest  was  confirmation.  So  this  was  the  fate 
129 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

his  careless  procrastination  had  wrought  for  his  only 
child.  He  had  doubly  disinherited  her  of  her  birthright 
of  name  and  station,  for  now  she  could  never  be  the 
contented  mistress  of  Holbeach  Manor,  never,  willingly, 
be  Giles'  wife.  And  yet  who  could  tell  if  the  battle  were 
really  lost,  for  had  not  skillful  parental  guiding  before 
now  led  impetuous  youth  past  the  tempting  opening  into 
the  primrose  path,  on  along  the  broad  highroad  of 
worldly  prosperity  ? 

"It's  merely  a  question  of  a  light  enough  hand  on  the 
rein,"  he  assured  himself  to  quiet  his  own  misgivings. 
He  had  too  keen  a  recollection  of  the  ruthless  wreckage 
of  his  own  youth,  ever  to  lay  a  rashly  desecrating  hand 
on  the  ark  ofi  another's  destiny,  even  if  it  were  his  own 
child's,  but  as  he  stood  there  watching  the  two  making 
ready  to  cross  the  stream  and  meet  him  at  the  landing,  he 
recalled  a  certain  discussion  with  Dorval  over  Jack  Le- 
Roy's  adventures,  and  resolved  that  young  man  should 
lack  no  assistance  in  his  scheme  of  further  adventure. 
Not  that  Holbeach  was  the  inexorable  father  of  romance, 
for  even  now  he  was  well-disposed  toward  Jack.  If  he 
proved  to  have  the  stuff  in  him  for  success,  it  would,  at 
the  worst,  be  an  easy  matter  to  push  him  on  into  a  suit- 
able position  for  Virginia's  husband;  if  he  failed,  there 
were  months,  perhaps  years  in  which  to  win  the  g^rl  to 
bigger  aspirations  in  life  before  he  returned,  if  he  ever 
did  return,  to  disturb  her. 

Not  a  sig^  of  these  meditations  was  visible  in  Marcus' 
mildly  unperturbed  face  as  he  reached  a  hand  to  help  his 
daughter  up  the  bank. 

"Wasn't  I  lucky  ?"  she  cried  gfayly,  as  she  stood  beside 
him.  "And  poor  you  haven't  the  ghost  of  a  fish  I  Had 
you  no  rises  ?" 

"Not  one.  But  luck  goes  to  the  young,"  he  made  half 
130 


UP  THE   RIVER 


melancholy  answer.  That  ever  present  sense  of  his  own 
day  being  near  its  end  had  been  awakened  into  keenness 
by  this  return  to  the  haunts  of  his  earlier  manhood. 

"This  will  be  the  twentieth  salmon  I've  caught.  I  have 
them  notched  on  my  landing-net  handle.  Jack,  don't  for- 
get to  mark  it  presently.  It  was  you  who  cut  the  first 
notch  five  years  ago.  Do  you  remember?"  And  she 
turned  to  him  with  her  old  instinctive  appeal,  an  appeal 
her  father  was  quick  to  note. 

"Yes,"  was  all  Jack's  answer,  but  Holbeach  thought 
he  saw  a  deeper  color  under  his  tan. 

Lunch  was  the  next  thing  in  the  order  of  the  day,  and 
that  possible  awkward  moment  which  two  of  them  at  least 
had  foreseen,  came  when  Jack  and  LaGue,  having  spread 
the  meal  on  the  rough  outdoor  table,  drew  apart  to  the 
open-air  fire. 

On  sea  and  land  Holbeach  had,  in  his  day,  shared  many 
a  frugal  meal  with  Indians,  rough  lumbermen  and  sailors. 
Still,  the  etiquette  of  a  fishing-camp  was  a  settled  matter, 
and  not  to  be  lightly  disturbed. 

All  the  same,  he  knew  that  this  was  no  time  to  antag- 
onize his  daughter  by  drawing  an  arbitrary  dividing  line 
between  her  and  her  childhood's  companion.  So  when 
Jack  made  a  last  trip  with  a  tin  of  steaming  potatoes,  he 
said  quietly : 

"Set  it  here.  Jack,  and  sit  down  with  us.  I  want  to 
hear  about  your  wanderings  from  yourself.  I've  only 
had  Mr.  Dorval's  account  so  far." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  a  pause  when  Virginia 

kept  her  eyes  glued  on  the  pile  of  sandwiches  before  her. 

When  Jack's  answer  came  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  it. 

"Thank  you,  sir,  but  I'll  just  borl  the  tea  now,  while 

LaGue  waters  the  horse.    I  can  tell  you  later." 

Leaving  no  room  for  an  answer  he  walked  over  to  the 

131 


I 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

rude  fireplace  and  Holbeach  knew  his  Lanse  Louise  iolk 
too  well  to  say  more.  Nowhere  in  Canada  are  better 
rural  manners  found  than  among  the  soft  voices  and 
leisurely  movements  of  these  Jersey  settlements  of  the 
Gulf,  manners  which  make  their  men  much  sought  after 
as  guides  to  wealthy  American  sportsmen,  but  behind 
this  gentle  deliberateness  there  lurks  a  shy  self-respect 
which  brooks  no  trifling  with. 

Jack  had  his  way,  and  he  and  LaGue  shared  a  scane- 
what  silent  meal,  but  when  pipes  were  produced,  Hol- 
beach strolled  over  to  join  them,  and  between  Jack  and 
him  began  that  soul-satisfying  talk  of  fellow-craftsmen. 
Jack  marveled  kt  the  tenacious  memory  that  in  two  years 
had  not  forgotten  an  eddy  in  a  pool,  a  turn  of  the  stream, 
and  Holbeach  respected  the  thoroughness  with  which 
Jack  had  already  patrolled  his  domain  and  mastered  its 
lore.  The  young  fellow  had  produced  from  his  pocket  a 
good  working  map  of  his  district,  and  the  word  of  quiet 
praise  to  his  industry  sent  a  glow  to  his  heart.  Holbeach 
had  the  rare  gift  of  knowing  just  the  right  word  to  say, 
and  when  to  say  it. 

Virginia,  sitting  on  a  log  watching  the  eddies'  milky- 
green  swirl  round  a  fallen  tree,  heard  her  father  call: 
"I  am  going  to  walk  up  the  bank  a  bit  with  LeRoy"— 
he  did  not  say  Jack  now — "to  see  about  cutting  away  tiiat 
dead  tunber  that  blocks  the  east  channel.  You  can  fish 
for  a  bit  with  LaGue  if  you  like,  only  be  careful." 

"AH  rig^t,  father,"  she  answered,  in  the  content  of 
seeing  things  going  well  between  the  two  rival  influ- 
ences of  her  life. 

As  yet  she  had  hardly  put  the  consciousness  of  certain 

new  facts  into  definite  form.    She  only  acknowledged  to 

herself  that  she  wanted  Jack  to  be  always  near  her,  a 

comrade  ever  at  hand  to  call  on.    In  a  lesser  degree  she 

13a 


UP  THE   RIVER 


wished  to  please  and  satisfy  her  father,  wished  to  feel 
that  he  approved  of  her,  and  her  dress  and  manners, 
though,  luckily  for  her,  she  had  a  most  inadequate  idea  of 
the  elaborate  luxury  of  the  standard  he  had  to  compare 
her  with.  It  was  a  far  cry  from  Lady  Warrenden  in  the 
thick  of  the  London  season  in  her  Pont  Street  house,  to 
Virginia  by  the  log  cabin  on  the  St.  John. 

Holbeach,  known  as  a  brilliant  conversationalist  when 
he  chose  to  exert  himself,  now  employed  his  skill  to  lead 
Jack  on  to  frank  self-revelation.  He  wanted  him  to 
broach  the  idea  of  a  further  expedition  without  open  sug- 
gestion from  him.  In  this  he  was  successful.  During 
these  weeks  of  solitary  meditation,  in  tramps  on  dewy 
mornings  by  forest  paths,  or  twilight  canoe  trips  on  the 
river,  Jack's  recent  past  had  been  shaping  itself  into  true 
perspective. 

Hardships  and  disappointments  faded  into  the  back- 
ground, and  the  possibilities  of  ultimate  success  took  more 
definite  shape.  The  timber  was  there,  he  knew,  and  the 
minerals  as  well,  he  firmly  believed,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  got  a  little  money  together  again  he  meant  to  go  and 
see  what  could  be  done  in  this  new  field.  Meanwhile,  he 
pored,  in  odd  moments,  over  a  tattered  manual  of  geol- 
ogy he  had  found  at  h<Mne  among  his  father's  few  books, 
applying  his  ready  if  not  brilliant  wits  to  learning  the 
le.<<son  of  the  rocks,  in  preparation  for  a  needed  day.  It 
was  not  easy  to  speak  of  these  cherished  plans  but,  as 
he  would  have  said,  Mr.  Holbeach  had  a  way  with  him, 
and  he  found  himself  drawing  a  glowing  picture  of  the 
accessibility  of  what  Moses  Flynn,  the  miner,  called  "one 
of  the  richest  little  nooks  in  God's  earth,  anyway,  here 
in  Canada,  p'rhaps  a  new  Cobalt,  for  all  they  knew." 

"If  only  I  hadn't  been  such  a  fool  as  to  let  him  go  out 
of  my  sight,"  he  ended. 

133 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


"But  you  could  find  the  spot  without  him?"  Holbeach 
suggested. 

"Yes,  but  I'd  find  it  a  smart  sight  better  with  him  along, 
an'  when  I  got  there  is  the  time  I'd  be  necdin'  him  the 
most." 

"And  you  don't  know  where  he  is  ?" 

Holbeach's  reconstructed  air-castle  seemed  in  as  shaky 
a  condition  as  ever. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  guess  a  letter  would  find  him  up  in  new 
Ontario.  He  wrote  me  after  he  go>.  to  that  mining  place 
— Gowganda,  they  call  it — and  he  seemed  fixed  there 
steady." 

"And  you  fr.ink  he's  reliaWe?" 

"Old  Moses?  Yes,  sir,  as  steady  as  a  cartload  of 
bricks.  An'  it  wasn't  all  Christmas  puddin'  that  he  and  I 
had  the  eatin'  of  together.  Oh,  yes,  I'd  stake  all  I'd  got 
on  his  word,  any  day." 

Holbeach  had  been  doing  scxne  rapid  thinking,  and 
now  spoke  decisively : 

"Well,  then,  listen  to  me  a  bit.  Mr.  Dorval  has  been 
talking  to  Mr.  Tathem  and  me  about  this  find  of  yours. 
He  thinks  it  may  be  a  thing  worth  gjoing  in  '  r,  and  we're 
inclined  to  agree  with  him.  If  you  will  go  off  in  the  next 
boat,  hunt  up  this  miner  and  his  specimens,  and  bring 
him  to  meet  some  consulting  engineer  we  choose,  and  he 
thinks  the  matter  promising,  we'll  take  up  the  mining 
rights  and  fit  you  out  for  another  trip  up  there,  and, 
anyway,  if  they  don't  care  to  join  in,  I'll  do  the  thing  my- 
self.   What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

Apparently  Jack  had  nothing  to  say,  but  stood  staring 
intendy  at  the  swift  flash  of  a  blue  kingfisher  as  it  dived 
fnan  a  white-blossomed  mountain  ash  overhanging  a 
sheer  slope  of  slatey  rock.  Years  after.  Jack  remembered 
the  golden-brown  shadow  of  the  rock  on  the  water  and 


»34 


UP  THE  RIVER 


the  white  slur  of  light  that  the  bird  struck  out  from  it. 

Some  instinct  seemed  to  warn  him  that  he  might  be 
binding  himself  to  certain  renunciations  by  an  obligation 
to  Mr.  Holbeach,  and  bade  him  pause,  as  Dorval's  words 
recurred  to  him :  "Remember  that  you  are  putting  your- 
self in  the  position  of  Mr.  Holbeach's  servant." 

Well,  that  worked  two  ways  new.  The  way  to  free 
himself  and  win  independence  and  a  chance  of  some- 
thing even  dearer  still,  something  the  mere  thought  of 
which  made  his  heart  thump  and  his  cheek  bum,  lay 
before  him,  and  here  he  was  hesitating. 

"I  say  that  if  you  trust  me,  sir,  I'll  do  all  a  man  can 
to  pull  the  thing  through.  I  never  counted  on  such  a 
chance." 

The  words  were  spoken  with  the  abruptness  of  teal 
feeling  and,  in  spite  of  himself,  Holbeach's  heart  warmed 
to  the  young  fellow. 

"That's  all  right,  then,"  he  agreed  heartily,  and  Giles 
would  have  considered  his  relative  more  eccentric  than 
ever  could  he  have  read  his  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XV 


iH 


A  FRESH  START 

FOR  the  first  time  since  trusting  his  child  to  Miss 
Creighton's  care,  Marcus  Holbeach  felt  that 
he  had  a  definite  duty  to  undertake  for  her 
beyond  lodging  money  in  the  bank  for  her 
expenses,  and  in  contradistinction  to  his  usual  dilatori- 
ness  he  lost  no  time  in  setting  about  its  discharge.  The 
Tathems  were  starting  the  next  morning  for  their  camp 
on  the  York,  and  after  dinner,  in  the  long,  mellow  twi- 
light, an  informal  conclave  was  held  on  Dorval's  veranda. 
Of  the  five  men,  Holbeach  and  Dorval  were  most  familiar 
with  the  details  of  Jack's  story,  but  Tom  Tathem's  le- 
gally trained  mind  was  forceful  to  grasp  the  salient  points 
of  any  affair  that  interested  him,  and  Hugh's  fancy  was 
caught  by  the  touch  of  adventure-book  romance  the  tale 
contained.  As  for  Noel,  his  angular  form  twisted  up  in 
one  of  Dorval's  straight-backed  habitant  armchairs,  he 
seemed  to  come  as  audience,  though  it  was  not  easy  to 
tell  how  far  he  was  fulfilling  that  duty  while  he  puffed 
at  his  pipe  in  his  shadowed  comer. 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you,"  began  Holbeach,  after  the 
first  discussion  of  probabilities,  "that  I've  made  up  my 
mind  if  there  seems  in  the  least  a  decent  prospect  ahead, 
to  let  LeRoy  have  his  chance,  even  if  you  others  decide 
to  leave  it  alone.    Of  course,  it  would  have  to  be  on  a 

smaller  scale " 

136 


. A   FRESH   START 


...rP'*''*  "  "°  "'*•*  *°  consider  that,"  Dorval  broke  in; 
If  he  goes,  I  do  my  share." 

"So  do  II"  said  Hugh,  eager  to  get  ahead  of  any  pru- 
dent suggestions  from  his  brother.  "And  I  tell  you  what 
I  ve  a  great  mind  to  go  along  with  him,"  he  added  with 
a  defiant  glance  toward  Tom's  bulk. 

"And  resign  your  commission?"  asked  his  brother 
dry  y.  It  strikes  me  you've  had  about  all  the  leave 
you  re  likely  to  get  this  year." 

"So  I  have,  confound  it  I"  Hugh  agreed  gloomily.    He 
was  a  senior  lieutenant  in  the  Canadian  artillery,  and 
every  detail  of  his  military  life  was  equally  dear  to  him, 
from  his  maple-leaf  buttons  to  the  big  khaki-colored  guns 
m  the  Quebec  citadel.    Tom  lathem  had  a  paternal  pride 
m  his  more  volatile  younger  brother,  though  he  often 
considered  it  his  duty  to  act  as  drag  on  his  impulses. 
Hugh  having  subsided,  Tom  went  on : 
"I  fancy  there's  a  lot  of  water  to  run  under  the  bridge, 
before  it  comes  to  any  one  setting  out.    Our  object  now 
IS  to  he  low  until  we've  secured  our  mining  rights  for  the 
promised  land,  and  we  can't  do  that  until  we  know  our 
locality.     Still,  if  Jack  can  produce  his  miner  and  his 
specimens,  there's  a  consulting  engineer  I  know  in  Mon- 
treal who's  a  most  reliable  chap " 

"I  always  supposed  I  was  all  that,  too,"  came  in  a 
melancholy  drawl  from  Noel's  corner.  "I  really  think 
some  of  my  friends  in  conclave  might  suggest  giving  me 
the  job,  and  so  spare  my  modesty  from  having  to  point 

out  my  own  professional  suitability " 

Hugh  laughed  derisively.  "Pity  the  sorrows  of  the 
unemployed  plutocrat,"  he  jeered. 

Without  noticing  him,  Noel  went  on  with  mild  in- 
sistence : 

"I  don't  mean  that  I  want  merely  to  sit  in  judgment  on 
137 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

the  men's  story  and  assay  their  specimens.  I'd  like  to  put 
my  widow's  mite  into  the  venture  if  it  comes  off.  and 
what's  more,  I  want  to  go  along  with  this  pet  lamb  of 
yours  and  see  his  Land  of  Promise  for  myself.  I've  been 
prowling  round  for  awhile  looking  for  some  first-das* 

opening "  .  . ,    • 

It  was  Holbeach  who  answered  with  the  amiable  im- 
patience we  give  to  a  child  intruding  its  own  affairs  on 
a  serious  discussion : 

"My  dear  fellow,  this  isn't  a  joke.  Cyrus  Noels  son 
can  hardly  need  minnows  like  us  to  give  him  an  opening. 
Of  course,  I  quite  see  that  you  would  like  the  fun  of  such 

an  expedition r" 

"I'm  not  out  looking  for  fun  to-day,  thank  you,  was 
the  undisturbed  retort.  "I'm  after  just  what  I  fancy 
LeRoy  is:  a  chance  at  a  career.  As  for  my  fa*«'" 
all  at  once  Noel's  voice  had  a  new  gravity  in  it,  "I 
haven't  seen  the  color  of  a  dollar  of  his  since  I 
Uft  college."  .  . 

"The  more  fool  you,"'  put  in  Hugh,  the  irrepressible, 
his  words  ending  in  a  grunt  of  pain  as  his  brother  dealt  a 
silencing  kick  to  his  shins.  .      _      „ 

"That's  the  way  to  instill  discretion  into  him,  Tom, 
was  Noel's  comment  on  this  side-play. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  "my  father's  spare  cash  is  in- 
vested in  my  half-sisters'  English  baronet  and  French 
marquis— he  finds  them  expensive  luxuries,  too.  Any- 
way, my  mother's  money  gives  me  enough  to  buy  cigar- 
ettes an'  grub  round  the  waste  places  of  the  earth  looking 
for  a  future.  So  I  just  about  seem  to  fit  in  here— that 
is,  if  you  think  so,"  and  he  looked  toward  Holbeach,  who 
appeared  chosen  by  universal  consent  as  chairman  of  their 
informal  committee.  .    j  »v. 

"Oh  certainly,"  the  latter  agreed.    He  had  noticed  the 

138 


A  FRESH  START 


queer  tinge  of  reipect  that  underlay  Tom  Tathem's  af- 
fectionate familiarity  with  his  college  friend,  and  he  felt 
lure  that  his  present  silence  had  nothing  in  it  of  doubt 
as  to  the  other's  capability. 

"Then,  supposing  we  agree  that  as  soon  as  LeRoy 
wires  he  has  caught  his  hare,  I  join  them  in  Quebec  and 
report  my  impressions.  My  friend  Tom  will,  I  think, 
answer  that  I'm  fit  for  the  job." 

"Of  course,  my  dear  fellow,"  was  Tom's  hearty  re- 
sponse, and  the  rest  agreed  in  chorus. 

Both  the  older  men  were  quick  to  feel  the  change  from 
whimsical  desultoriness  to  business  decision  in  Noel. 

"Let  me  point  out,  too,"  he  said,  "that  the  less  time  we 
lose  in  the  matter,  the  better.  Every  hour  has  its  chapce 
of  the  plum,  if  plum  there  be,  dropping  into  another 
mouth  and  leaving  us  gaping." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  Dorval. 

And  so  the  affair  was  decided  that  night,  and  early  the 
next  morning  Jack,  working  busily  at  a  bark  roof  to  the 
outdoor  dining-room  at  the  lower  camp,  his  mind  in  a 
turmoil  over  his  prospects,  was  surprised  by  the  advent 
of  one  of  the  men  engaged  by  Holbeach  as  guides,  with 
a  note  from  the  latter  that  abruptly  cut  short  his  occu- 
pation. It  directed  him  to  hand  over  his  work  to  the 
bearer  and,  returning  in  his  buckboard,  make  ready  to 
set  out  in  the  boat  leaving  the  next  morning. 

Jack  obeyed  with  the  simple  promptness  which  was 
part  of  his  nature  when  he  trusted,  and  the  two  men 
whom  he  trusted  most  in  the  world  v/ere  Holbeach  and 
Dorval. 

Those  never-to-be-forgotten  last  months  of  his  fa- 
ther's life,  when  that  handsome,  attractive  ne'er-do-well 
was  journeying  the  last  grim  stages  of  a  drunkard's 
death,  would  have  graven  their  mark  still   deeper  on 

139 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

mother  and  son  but  for  Dorval's  constant  helpfulness  and 
Holbeach's  generosity. 

That  time  was  never  alluded  to  between  Mrs.  LeRuy 
and  Jack,  but  whenever  either  spoke  the  name  of  the  two 
men  who  had  befriended  them,  the  other  was  quick  to 
feel  the  memory  it  implied. 

So  now  it  was  doubly  good  to  Jack  that  these  two 
should  be  ready  to  believe  in  him,  they  and  the  Tathems, 
with  whom  he  had  sailed  and  fished  in  the  equality  of 
boyhood. 

Here  was  his  chance,  and  if  a  vision  of  Virginia's  wist- 
ful eyes  caused  him  to  choke,  he  still  knew  that  he  had 
rather  be  separated  from  her  by  rivers  and  forests  than 
by  the  impalpable  but  real  barrier  that  lay  between  the 
guardian  on  her  father's  river,  or  even  the  skillful  tim- 
ber-sealer and  the  young  lady  of  the  Bluff  House. 

Over  morning  and  evening  pipes,  on  the  river  bank,  by 
his  log  hut,  or  guiding  his  canoe  downstream,  he  had 
faced  and  fought  out  the  question. 

No  other  woman,  he  believed,  could  ever  be  to  him 
what  Virginia  was,  but,  all  the  same,  he  felt  that  he 
must  not  attempt  to  make  love  to  her,  must  even  avoid 
her,  hard  as  it  would  be.  And  so  there  was  a  mixed  tu- 
mult of  emotions  at  work  all  that  day  behind  the  atten- 
tion he  gave  to  the  practical  details  of  his  preparations. 
There  was  the  vague  hope  of  what  success  might  bring 
him,  mingled  with  boding  thought  of  his  last  interview 
with  Virginia.  Surely,  Fate  could  not  be  so  unkind  as 
to  prevent  that  meeting. 

That  busy  d.  ^  passed,  and  the  long  summer  dusk  found 
him  on  the  BluflF  House  veranda,  answering  Dorval's 
and  Holbeach's  last  questions,  answering  carefully  with 
his  surface  sense,  while  every  nerve  was  tingling  with 
consciousness  of  the  slim,  white  figure  sitting  a  little 
140 


A   FRESH   START 


apart  in  a  deep  rocking-chair.  A  ray  from  a  primrose- 
(haded  lamp  came  through  the  open  French  window  of 
the  sitting-room,  drawing  a  line  across  her  knee  and  the 
tanned  wrists  and  hands  lying  so  still  on  it. 

It  seemed  to  Jack's  fancy  that  there  was  something 
pathetically  appealing  in  the  stillness  of  those  hands 
that  he  knew  so  swift  and  skillful  at  paddlo  or  rod. 

"Yes,  I'll  wire  just  as  soon  as  ever  I  lay  hands  on 
him,  and  I'll  bet  my  boots  old  Moses  Flynn  won't  have 
given  the  thing  away,"  he  heard  himself  saying  in  an- 
swer to  last  cautions. 

"You're  off  at  daylight.  Do  you  sleep  on  board  to- 
night. Jack  ?"  asked  Dorval,  perhaps  with  a  desire  to  end 
a  scene  of  which  he  felt  the  strain. 

How  aghast  Jack  would  have  been  if  he  had  guessed 
that  both  the  older  men  were  as  conscious  of  the  situa- 
tion as  he  himself.  Luckily  for  him,  neither  of  them  had 
allowed  certain  pangs,  bravely  endured  in  their  younger 
days,  to  crystalize  into  bitterness,  bot,  remembering  their 
own  dark  hours  of  renunciation,  they  dealt  gently  with 
him  now. 

"Yes,  and  I'vo  my  dunnage  to  fetch  across  and  had 
better  be  off,"  Jack  said  as  bravely  as  he  might  through 
his  bitter  disapp,/intment. 

He  had  hoped  to  the  last  that  chance  might  g^ve  him 
one  word  alone  with  Virginia.  But  Holbeach,  though 
pitiful,  was  inexorable,  and  had  carefully  kept  his  daugh- 
ter near  him  all  that  evening.  For  her  sake,  there  must  be 
no  rashly  irrevocable  farewell  words  spoken.  She,  as 
well  as  Jack,  must  have  her  chance. 

"Well,  don't  let  us  keep  you,"  Holbeach  said,  then 
looking  round  toward  that  silent,  white  figure,  he  spoke 
in  a  voice  that  through  her  absorption  touched  the  girl 
with  its  new  gentleness: 


I 


141 


i:i' 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Come,  Virpnii.  tnd  wish  Jack  good  luck  and  a  Mfe 
return.  If  yiMi  get  a  mine  it  mutt  be  called  the  Virginia, 
Jack." 

The  young  feUow't  heart  leaped  at  this  joining  of  his 
betoved's  name  with  his  venture.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  to  read  some  significance  in  it,  and  then  com- 
mon sense  scoffed  at  the  hope. 

In  the  dusk  Jack  could  dimly  see  the  outlines  of  the 
pale  face  and  iMg  dark  eyes,  while  her  simple  murmured 
words  thrilled  his  heart: 

"Good-bye,  Jack.  Come  back  soon,"  and  her  hand 
clung  to  his  in  a  warm,  soft  pressure.  There  was  a  lit- 
tle package,  too,  that  .she  left  in  his  grasp,  and  some- 
how, it  was  that  unknown  token  that  enabled  Jack  to  play 
the  man  and  get  away,  hurrying  down  through  the  dark- 
ening woods  to  the  landing  where  he  and  Virginia  had 
met  on  that  May  morning,  so  few  short  weeks  ago. 

By  the  wan  light  of  a  young  moon,  veiled  by  scurry- 
ing drift,  Jack  peered  into  a  little  leather  case,  though  he 
had  to  strike  a  match  before  he  could  see  the  grave  eyes 
looking  out  at  him  with  all  their  tender  trust. 

"God  bless  her,"  he  muttered,  as  he  sent  his  canoe  for- 
ward against  the  lapping  waves. 

An  hour  later,  his  saikir's  bag  lay  ready  at  the  cottage 
door,  and  his  mother  stood  facing  him,  the  glare  from 
the  unshaded  lamp  full  upon  her  face,  set  with  restrained 
feeling.  Her  work-worn  hands,  that  for  all  her  striving 
were  tremulous,  held  a  roll  of  dingy  bank-notes. 

"Then  you  won't  take  it?"  she  said  almost  harshly. 
"Think  again,  for,  'deed  an'  truth,  I  won't  be  needin'  it." 

Jack  laid  a  hand  on  hers  holding  the  money. 

"No,  indeed,  mother.  I'd  be  poor  stuff  if  I  took  what 
you've  worked  so  hard  for." 

"  Twas  for  you,"  she  muttered. 

14a 


*Good-bye,  Jack.     Come  back  soon,'  and  her  hand  clung  to  his." 


A   FRESH   START 


"I  know.  But  I'll  be  the  easier  up  there  for  knowing 
you've  got  that,  against  illness  or  such.  You  see,  Mr. 
Holbeach  and  Mr.  Dorval  have  backed  me  up  an'  I  don't 
mind  takin'  their  help  when  I've  good  hopes  of  winning 
them  double." 

"  'Twas  Mr.  Holbeach  as  first  wanted  you  to  go?"  she 
asked  with  sudden  change  of  interest. 

"I  don't  know— they  were  all  in  it— well,  yes,  I  sup- 
pose it  war  him " 

"Maybe  he  don't  want  you  to  come  back." 

Jack  started  and  flushed  darkly. 

"Mother !  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  know  what  he's 
done  for  us  before  now !"  he  protested  almost  sternly. 

She  winced  even  at  this  slight  touch  on  old  sores,  but 
held  her  grouiiu. 

"Yes,  I  know.  But — tell  me— did  ye  see  Virginia  to- 
night i^' 

Her  voice  softened  at  the  word,  and  her  son  bent  to  the 
change. 

"I  saw  her— there,  with  the  others.    That  was  all." 

The  bitterness  of  the  thought  was  for  a  moment  un- 
suppressed,  then  he  added  half  to  himself : 

"But  it  was  best  so." 

"Best  sol"  and  a  storm-signal  sounded  in  her  voice. 
"Best  that  the  child  should  be  frettin'  her  heart  out,  as 
she  did  last  winter,  an'  him,  as  hasn't  even  guv  her  an 
honest  name " 

Jack  stared  at  her  almost  in  dread. 

"Stop  I    You're  sure  crazy,  mother !"  he  stammered. 

"  'Deed,  an'  I'm  not,  then !  Haven't  ye  ever  wondered 
why  he  kept  his  only  child  here  alone  in  the  woods  while 
he  himself  is  a  great  gentleman  over  in  England  with 
more  houses  than  he  can  live  in?  No,  ye  didn't  know 
that,  an'  I  didn't  mean  ever  to  tell  you " 

143 


i 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Why  did  you  tell  me  now,  mother?" 

For  all  the  quiet  of  the  words  the  question  had  an  in- 
sistent force  in  it. 

The  face  he  looked  into  showed  no  irresolution. 

"For  what  else  but  that  ye  may  know  the  child's  need 
of  a  man  to  care  for  her.  Marcus  Holbeach's  dead  and 
gone  sins  and  sorrows  aren't  nothing  to  me.  The  Lord 
judge  them  mercifully  for  his  goodness  to  me  and  mine ! 
But  look  you,  mind  you"— her  voice  shook  with  feeling— 
"this  is  told  you  to  make  you  see  as  you,  a  gentleman's 
son,  is  a  fitting  mate  for  her,  for  all  her  father's  money, 
an'  to  make  you  work  for  her,  an'  come  back  to  her,  so 
that  I  may  see  yotJ  happy  man  an'  wife.  The  child  needs 
you,  I  tell  you,  an'  don't  you  forget  it." 

Wrath  with  Holbeach,  pity  and  love  for  Virginia,  joy 
at  her  need  of  him,  had  swept  over  Jack,  as  varying 
winds  sweep  the  sea,  but  now  one  purpose  alone  had  full 
possession  of  him. 

"God  bless  you,  mother,  for  telling  me !"  he  said  sim- 
ply. "I  was  fool  enough  to  think  I  owed  it  to  her  father 
to  go.  Now,  I  owe  him  nothing  save  honest  work. 
Then,  when  I  can  make  her  a  home,  if  she'll  take  it — oh, 
I'll  work  for  it  as  man  never  worked  before.  Good-bye, 
mother  I" 

He  seized  his  bundle,  and  vanished  into  the  soft  dark- 
ness, Mrs.  LeRoy  standing,  a  resolute  figure,  staring  out 
toward  the  steamer's  lights  at  the  wharf  across  the  Basin. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


IN  THE  DAWNING 

THE  Fates  worked  a  difference  in  more  than  one 
destiny  when  they  decreed  that  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  short  summer  night  the  mail- 
boat  engines  should  develop  some  of  those 
obstructive  tendencies  to  which  aged  machinery  is  sub- 
ject. 

And  the  machinery  of  the  Strathcona  could  hardly  be 
blamed  if  it  felt  it  deserved  a  rest  after  so  many  seasons' 
grind  against  the  Gulf  tides.  The  Captain,  a  much  more 
work-a-day  specimen  of  a  Quebec  pilot  than  Captain 
Loisons,  stormed  up  and  down  the  deck,  using  vigorous 
pre-Revolution  Norman  oaths  that  would  have  delighted 
the  heart  of  an  etymologist,  while  every  fresh  time  the 
engineer  was  hailed  on  deck  to  beard  him,  the  latter's 
aspect  was  grimier  and  more  suggestive  of  a  longing  for 
suicide. 
Over  one  person  all  the  commotion  passed  unheeded. 
Jack  LeRoy,  in  solitary  possession  of  the  forward  deck, 
now  pacing  up  and  down,  now  sitting  on  a  bench  by  the 
rail,  his  chin  resting  on  his  arms,  had  watched  out  the 
night  hours.  The  dew  was  heavy,  and  a  wind  blew  in 
chill  from  the  Gulf,  but  he  felt  he  could  not  go  below 
and  sleep  while,  sitting  here  in  the  darkness,  he  might  still 
savor  his  nearness  to  his  heart's  treasure. 
Last  time  he  had  not  thought  it  easy  to  go,  and  yet 

145 


II 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

how  infinitely  easier  it  had  been  then  than  now,  when 
his  mother's  words  rang  in  his  ears:  "The  child  needs 
you,  I  tell  you,  an'  don't  you  forget  it !"  As  if  there  were 
any  chance  of  a  man  forgetting  such  words ! 

Mrs.  LeRoy's  revelation  as  to  Virginia's  birth  had 
changed  all  the  familiar  aspect  of  life,  as  gathering  clouds 
on  mountains  veil  one  familiar  peak  and  bring  another 
into  unguessed-of  prominence.  Just  a  few  hours  ago  he 
had  been  so  proud  of  Holbeach's  trust,  so  loyal  in  his  de- 
termination to  hold  aloof  from  disturbing  Virginia's 
quietude  until  he  could  make  a  justifying  place  for  him- 
self, and  now  his  heart  was  hard  as  stone  toward  the  man 
who  he  felt  had  wronged  her.  Ten  years  hence  he  might 
judge  less  harshly,  in  masculine  fashion;  hca,  it  was  in- 
evitable that  life  should  ha\ .  made  him  somewhat  nar- 
row. 

It  was  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  boyish  remem- 
brance of  his  attractive,  irresponsible  father's  sordidly 
tragical  ending  should  have  developed  a  certain  puri- 
tanical vein  in  him,  a  vein  that  would  pass  with  the  fuller 
development  of  the  years. 

Keeping  his  night  watch.  Jack  saw  a  dim  little  light 
over  in  the  gloom  of  the  opposite  shore,  which  told  that 
his  mother,  too,  was  awake.  How  different  the  weary 
night  watch  of  age  from  the  turbulent  yet  hopeful  vigil 
of  youth! 

Over  on  the  French  Bluff,  where  the  mouth  of  the 
Basin  narrowed,  one  of  the  gliding  harbor  lights  shone, 
and  just  above  it  the  blackness  of  the  trees  hid  the  Bluff 
House.  Was  there  one  waking  there  for  his  sake,  he 
wondered.  A  tide  of  new  tenderness  swelled  his  breast, 
and  nothing  seemed  too  marvellous  beside  the  thought 
that  Virginia  should  have  fretted  for  his  absence. 

Wrapped  in  the  visions  and  longings  of  fe  vcamg  man- 

14* 


IN    THE    DAWNING 


hood,  Jack  saw  the  stars  pale  in  the  eastern  sky,  saw  the 
slow  flush  creep  upward  and  the  curve  of  the  hills 
change  from  black  to  royal  purple  above  his  beloved's 
home.  Incoherently  he  felt  that  pageant  of  the  dawn  to 
be  meet  symbol  of  his  love. 

The  golden  radiance  had  spread  over  the  sky  when 
irate  voices  near  at  hand  broke  in  on  his  absorption. 

"And  you  mean  to  say  we  shan't  get  off  before  six 
or  seven  ?"  The  voice  was  that  of  a  commercial  traveler 
well  known  in  Lanse  Louise,  and  it  was  the  Captain  who 
answered  him : 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  do  mean  to  say,  sir.  If  you 
have  any  objections  to  make,  I  refer  you  to  the  engineer, 
who  seems  not  to  know  how  to  manage  his  own  machin- 
ery, or  to  the  Minister  of  Marine  at  Ottawa,  who  sees 
fit  to  employ  antiquated  tubs  for  the  carriage  of  the 
King's  mails." 

In  this  torrent  of  words  Jack  seized  on  one  fact;  the 
boat  might  not  start  before  six  or  seven,  and  it  was  now 
little  after  half-past  four.  He  had  ample  time  to  indulge 
the  instinctive  longing  that  drew  him  like  a  magnet. 

If  there  were  any  more  definite  hope  of  a  meeting  be- 
hind that  longing  he  did  not  put  it  into  shape. 

"Dis-donc.  Remember,  I  wait  not  a  minute,  not  if  it 
were  for  Sir  Wilfred  himself,  after  those  sacri  engines 
work,"  shouted  the  Captain  behind  him,  as  he  went  down 
the  gangway,  but  he  paid  no  heed. 

He  spied  a  wooden  canoe,  with  a  pole  in  it,  drawn  up 
on  the  landing  and,  taking  possession  of  it,  sent  the  light 
craft  flying  swiftly  over  the  shallows  toward  the  Bluff 
House. 

What  he  meant  to  do  when  he  got  there,  he  scarcely 
knew,  but  he  left  that  to  Fate. 

And  Fate  was  ready  with  the  answer.    It  had  been 


147 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


Virginia's  first  wakeful  night,  and  through  the  hours  her 
spirit  had  answered  the  call  of  his. 

Rousing  from  a  troubled  doze  as  the  first  light  flooded 
her  room,  she  sprang  up  with  a  definite  purpose  fully 
formed  in  her  mind.  The  mail-boat  was  to  sail  at  day- 
light, and  she  would  hurry  down  to  the  landing  and  watch 
it  pass. 

In  these  early  summer  dawns  it  was  nothing  un- 
usual for  her  to  slip  into  her  bathing  dress,  as  she  did 
now,  and,  wrapping  herself  in  a  long,  red  cloak,  run  down 
to  the  shore  for  her  morning  plunge,  but  never  before 
had  she  passed  by  dewy  garden  and  woods  with  the  same 
desperate  heart-craviiig  for  one  more  word,  for  one  more 
sight,  never  with  the  same  pallid  face  and  heavy  eyes. 

As  the  sun  tipped  the  Gaspe  hills,  brimming  water  and 
forest  with  fresh  radiance,  it  lit  up  that  slim  red  figure 
poised  on  the  top  step  of  the  long  flight  leading  from  the 
bathing-house  down  to  the  landing.  Like  priestess  of  a 
temple  watching  the  sacred  sun-rising,  she  hovered  there, 
but  her  gaze  was  turned  westward,  up  the  Basin,  where 
she  had  been  quick  to  note  the  boat  still  at  the  landing, 
with  no  steam  up.  At  once  she  guessed  what  had  hap- 
pened, for  such  breakdowns  were  no  uncommon  thing  on 
the  Strathcona. 

Almost  in  the  same  moment  that  Jack  saw  the  red,  sun- 
lit figure  and  sent  his  little  craft  leaping  over  the  water 
with  a  swift  thrust  of  his  pole,  she  had  caught  sight  of 
him  and  went  flying  down  the  steep,  wooden  steps  to  the 
landing. 

A  wandering  pufT  of  wind  caught  the  loose  knot  of  her 
hair,  spreading  it  adrift  over  her  shoulders,  and  swept 
back  the  cloak,  showing  a  glimpse  of  slim  limbs  and 
white  arms.  Was  it  a  wonder  that  Jack's  blood  surged 
to  his  head  and  his  heart  thumped  against  his  ribs  ? 
148 


IN   THE   DAWNING 


"Oh,  Jack !  Jack  I  You've  come  back  lo  me  I  .  .  .  You 
won't  go  away  and  leave  me  I"  she  gasped,  catching  his 
arm  as  with  a  skillful  stroke  he  rounded  the  canoe  in  to 
the  landing. 

"Take  care!"  he  said,  steadying  her  with  one  hand. 
Then,  jumping  out,  his  arms  were  around  her,  all 
thoughts  of  duty  and  prudence  cast  to  the  winds,  as  she 
clung  to  him.  They  belonged  to  each  other,  and  nothing 
should  separate  them  now. 

One  first  long  kiss  had  been  given,  before  he  whis- 
pered hoarsely : 

"Virginia,  I've  got  to  go.  Don't  you  know  that  I'm 
thankful  to  go  and  work  like  a  slave  so  as  to  make  them 
believe  I'm  fitter  for  you.  I  know  you're  sweet  enough 
not  to  mind  my  being  rough  an'  poor,  because  you  know 
no  one  could  love  you  more  than  I  do,  but  I've  got  some 
day  to  be  able  to  show  your  father  that  I  can  make  a 
home  for  you — not  fit  for  you,  nothing  I  could  do  would 
be  that  .  .  .  but  .  .  ." 

She  slipped  a  hand  up  to  his  neck  and  broke  in,  a  note 
of  pain  in  her  voice : 

"Father!  What  do  I  matter  to  him  I  He  never  wanted 
me  with  him  like  other  girls'  fathers  do.  I've  got  only 
you,  Jack." 

"And,  before  God,  I'll  never  fail  you,"  he  breathed 
fervently. 

Then  Love  taught  him  a  strange  new  lesson  of  un- 
selfishness. If  he  went  away  leaving  Virginia  out  of 
tune  with  her  home  influences,  she  might  be  more  com- 
pletely his  in  spirit,  but  at  the  cost  of  a  certain  solitary 
bitterness.  Vv^orst  of  all,  if  she  got  thinking  of  her  and 
her  father's  mutual  relations  she  might  somehow  or  other 
hit  on  the  truth. 

And  so,  driving  back  his  sense  of  her  wrong  for  fear 


149 


Ill 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

"Ru^  v^'""''  °^  ''  '"«''*  ^«»'=*'  ''«'.  he  spoke  bravely 

will  just  make  me  work  like  twenty  I"  '' 

At  this  she  promptly  forgot  all  save  him,  in  the  world- 
old  fash.on  of  man  and  woman  finding  their  mat^ 

But  you  won't  overwork  yourself.  Jack,  and  you'll 
take  lots  of  provisions  with  you  this  time?"  she  urged 
He  laughed  out  with  great  show  of  courage 

tnanks  to  Mr.  Doryal  and  your  father.    And  we  mav 

iT,  Z        u7Tfi;°  sTca^'s^h^""?  *T  ^°" 
*„-  ir  '  ^  *^*"  s*6>  ne  s  done  his  best 

fo   you  so  far,  an'  perhaps  there'vt  sometimes  been   nags 
.n  the  stream  no  one's  known  of  save  himself  "  ^ 

Some  significance  in  his  words  seemed  to  reach   the 

S  Snt^uSir '--' ''-'  ^-^ "-'-'  ^^  '-  ^^ 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Jack'" 
S^ing  his  mistake,  he  hastened  to  reassure  her: 
Nothin  exactly,  only  it's  not  always  plain  sailing  for 

^ A^sudden  shrill  whistle  rent  the  air  and  he  started 

a  tant^m'^thl?  ^V"^  ""'  '"'^  "'^  ^^^"^'"'^  «  ^"ch 
a  tantrum  that  nothing  would  please  him  better  than 
leaving  some  one  behind.    It  mustn't  be  me  I" 
Then  the  sense  of  imminent  parting  swept  over  them 

clung  as  though  she  could  not  loose  her  hold. 
150 


IN   THE   DAWNING 


His  cheek  was  against  her  hair  as  he  whispered: 
Before  I  go,  tell  me  you  wouldn't  mind  setting  off  to 
live  in  the  woods  with  a  rough  fellow  like  me,  an'  leaving 
your  home  and  all  your  pretty  things  behind." 
I  only  want  you,  Jack." 
His  fingers  toyed  tenderly  with  her  loose  hair 
Sometimes  I  feel  hardly  fit  to  come  near  you." 
A  desperate  little  laugh  broke  in. 
'Well,  you  are  near  me  now  I" 
"Ah,  yes.  but  it's  over !    God  bless  you,  child  I" 
The  clasp  of  his  anns  was  loosened,  and,  turning  t«. 
olutely  away,  he  leaped  into  the  boat,  and  with  a  long 

of  °he  diff  ""'  '"'■  "^'"^  '"'"«  ""''*'■  **  *'"'°* 

It  was  none  too  soon,  for  the  Strathcona  was  already 

backmg  out  from  the  wharf,  and  Jack  had  to  run  the 

canoe  alongside  and  clamber  up,  abandoning  his   little 

craft  to  whoever  would  rescue  it. 
Virginia  had  sunk  to  the  edge  of  the  landing-stage,  her 

feet  overhanging  the  water,  all  her  heart  in  her  eyes,  as 

she  watched  for  that  supreme  moment,   when,  on   the 

steamer  s  deck,  he  would  pass  close  by. 
It  came,  and  for  a  brief  space  they  stared  at  each  other 

without  wave  of  hand  or  any  interchanged  signal.    Then 

the  space  between  them  widened  and,  as  the  boat  curved. 

She  was  left  watching  its  churning  wake. 


U 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE  SABINE  FAMILY 

ONE  of  Humphrey  Noel's  peculiarities  was  the 
unannounced  and  almost  furtive  fashion  in 
which  his  comings  and- goings  were  accom- 
plished. According  to  this  habit,  on  the  day 
the  Tathems  went  up  to  their  river  and  the  yacht  sailed, 
he  appeared  unexpectedly  at  the  hotel  with  his  scanty 
belongings. 

Esther  was  away  from  the  house  at  the  time,  having,  at 
an  early  hour,  started  in  the  dirty,  puffing  little  ferry-boat 
to  cross  the  bay  on  a  search  for  provisions  among  the 
French  farmhouses. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  she  got  back,  and  as  she 
climbed  the  road  from  the  wharf,  her  spirits  were  some- 
what below  their  usual  serenity.  Perhaps  a  consciousness 
of  a  general  sootiness  from  the  ferry,  together  with  a 
tousledness  of  hair  from  buffeting  winds,  was  the  cause 
of  this,  for  Esther  loved  her  appointments  to  be  dainty ; 
perhaps  the  sight,  an  hour  ago,  of  the  Tathems'  yacht 
heading'  seaward  was  accountable  for  a  general  sense  of 
the  flatness  of  things.  Though  she  did  not  look  up  at 
the  hotel,  she  knew  that  a  man  was  sitting  on  the  veranda, 
and  took  him  for  granted  as  one  of  the  commercial  trav- 
elers forever  coming  and  going  by  the  shore  roads  in 
their  buggies.  This  would  necessitate  a  few  minutes' 
smiling  talk  before  she  could  get  away  to  her  room  for 
a  good  wash,  and  perhaps  a  rest  over  a  novd.    Usually, 


THE   SABINE   FAMILY 


such  an  effort  was  second  nature  to  her,  but  to-day  it 
seemed  tiresome.  All  the  same,  when  she  reached  the 
steps  and'looked  up  it  was  with  a  resolute,  cheerful  face. 
Instead  of  some  under-sized,  swarthy  Quebec  French- 
man, in  shabby  black  coat  and  dingy  linen,  beaming  upon 
her  with  his  chair  comfortably  tilted  back  and  his  feet  on 
the  veranda  railing,  she  saw  Noel  rise  and  come  to  meet 
her  with  courteous  alacrity. 

"He  must  be  waiting  for  letters  or  something,"  she  as- 
sured herself,  feeling  the  while  that  things  had  not  so 
completely  lost  their  effervescence  as  she  had  imagined. 

"So  you  have  deigned  to  turn  up  at  last,"  he  com- 
plained as  they  met.  "I  don't  see  why  you  chose  the  very 
day  that  I  came  to  put  myself  under  your  protection,  to 
vanish  into  space.    It  hardly  seems  fair,  does  it?" 

"Well,  but— under  my  protection  ?"  she  repeated  in  per- 
plexity, her  hand  still  in  his. 

"Don't  look  so  scared !  I  haven't  chopped  up  the  cabin 
boy  or  spilt  the  soup  on  Miss  Tathem's  best  frock  and 
fled  from  my  crime— I've  fled  from  nothing  worse 
than  a  fishing-rod.  I  knew  if  I  went  up  that  river  I'd 
be  made  to  fish,  and  I  don't  want  to— never  meant  to. 
Why,  with  fossils  waiting  for  me  all  round  the  shore, 
should  I  sacrifice  myself  to  friendship?  I  put  it  to  my- 
self. Result,  here  I  am.  Tom  will  forgive  me  after  long 
years,  I  suppose."  As  he  spoke,  Esther  was  thinking  that 
he  was  younger  and  better-looking  than  she  had  fancied. 
The  wrinkles  on  his  face  somehow  emphasized  its  pleas- 
antness when  he  smiled. 

"But  do  you  mean  you've  come  to  stay  here,  in  the 
house?"  she  demanded. 

"Exactly  so.  I  took  possession  at  one  o'clock  dinner. 
If  you  don't  believe  me,  come  and  see  my  name  in  the 
register." 

»53 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"All  right,  I  will,"  she  laid,  as  he  followed  her  in  to  the 
little  office. 

Esther  was  laughing,  with  that  sense  of  youthful  well- 
being  to  which  a  laugh  comes  easily. 

All  at  once  she  was  checked  by  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Sa- 
bine's gray-robed  figure,  as  she  stood  looking  down  in- 
tently on  the  open  book  they  had  been  seeking.  Even  as 
Esther  wondered  at  her  mother's  occupation,  she  turned 
at  the  sound  of  their  footsteps,  and  the  girl  felt  a  sudden 
chill  wave  of  coming  misfortune  wafted  to  her  from  the 
fcy  misery  of  that  still  face. 

She  had  grown  used  to  the  shadow  of  old,  unhappy, 
far-oflf  things  in  those  somber  hazel  eyes,  but  surely,  such 
suffering  as  she  now  saw  must  be  something  new  and 
actual.  Her  age  and  disposition  made  her  habitually,  if 
tacitly,  impatient  of  what  she  considered  to  be  intangible, 
if  not  forgettable,  sorrows,  but  now,  surely  this  was  a 
different  matter.  With  a  swift,  new  fear  at  heart,  she 
peered  through  the  open  door  of  the  family  sitting-room 
and  saw  that  it  was  empty. 

Usually,  at  this  leisurely  hour,  Mr.  Sabine  was  docing 
in  his  armchair,  over  a  newspaper. 

"Where's  father?"  she  said  hastily,  with  a  little  catch 
of  her  breath. 

If  Mrs.  Sabine  recognized  her  fear  she  gave  no  sign 
of  doing  so,  unless  it  were  in  the  promptness  of  her  an- 
swer. 

"He's  lying  down  in  his  room.  He  had  one  of  those 
attacks  of  his  just  before  dinner,  but  he's  better  now," 
she  said  in  her  usual  even  voice,  with  just  the  slightest 
increase  of  a  certain  lifelessness  that  marked  it  in  tired 
moments. 

"No,"  she  said  with  a  checking  motion  of  her  hand,  as 
Esther  was  tumii^  to  the  stairs,  "he's  sleeping  now,  and 

IS4 


THE   SABINE    FAMILY 


you'd  better  not  disturb  him.  By  and  by  you  can  take 
him  a  cup  of  tea  when  he  wakes." 

Esther  had  never  disputed  her  mother's  quiet  direc- 
tions, and  now  she  made  no  protest,  but,  as  Mrs.  Sabine 
left  the  room  without  a  glance  at  Noel,  she  sank,  a  some- 
what forlorn  figure,  into  the  Mli-worn  armchair  by  the 
office  desk. 

In  her  hand  she  still  he''  ;.  s; :  v  "f  :  e;;  n  blossomed 
moosewood  she  had  gatlur  ,1  Lui  ili.  -.liul  ■  ing  flow- 
ers were  drooping  from  tho  t  IVrt ,,'  -\  ■  .  •  i\  i.id.  Noel 
had  perched  himself  on  tlie  ta'  '<;  tc-. .  ■,  an  sat  gazing 
down  at  her  contemplati  .oiy. 

"Did  you  see  my  father  wneii  y^u  c.irno?"  she  asked, 
looking  up  with  a  new  idea. 

"Yes,  and  he  seemed  fit  as  a  fiddle  then.  Talked  a  lot 
and  took  me  in  there  to  his  fossil  shelves " 

"Well,  but  when "  she  interrupted. 

"I  went  up  to  my  room  for  a  book  I  wanted  to  show 
him,  and  when  I  came  down  he  was  just  where  you're 
sitting,  with  his  arms  and  head  on  the  book— see,  it  blot- 
ted my  name  a  bit,  and  spoiled  my  fine  autograph."  She 
took  no  notice  of  his  attempted  lightness  of  tone. 

"Was  he  alone?"  she  asked. 

"No,  your  mother  was  with  him,  and  seemed  to  know 
what  to  do.  At  any  rate,  when  I  offered  my  services  she 
refused  them." 

"She  never  likes  any  one  but  herself  to  be  with  him 
when  he's  ill.  She  always  sends  me  away,"  Esther  said 
in  quick  apology.  Somehow,  she  had  gathered  an  impres- 
sion that  the  refusal  had  not  been  over-gracious. 

"I  dare  say  it's  wisest  to  keep  people  as  quiet  as  pos- 
sible," he  agreed.  In  reality,  he  had  been  rather  taken 
aback  when  Mrs.  Sabine  rejected  with  such  quiet  finality 
his  offer  to  help  her  husband  to  an  easier  position. 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

It  was  not  Noel's  way  to  take  much  interest  in  the  pe- 
culiarities of  the  people  he  drifted  among  on  his  wander- 
ing career,  tnit  to-day  he  was  haunted  by  the  likeness 
and  the  difference  between  two  faces,  between  hazel  eyes, 
past-shadowed  and  inscrutable,  and  hazel  eyes,  frank  and 
eager  in  their  expectant  cutlook. 

"Through  deep  waters !"  he  muttered  as,  Esther  hav- 
ing gone  upstairs,  he  strolled  back  to  the  veranda  seat  and 
lit  another  cigarette. 

Twice,  at  short  intervals,  Esther,  peering  into  her 
father's  room,  was  met  by  the  blankness  of  closed  eyelids 
and  immobile  fac^,  a  temporary  blankness  which  in  the 
old  and  wayworn  is  apt  to  startle  the  beholder  with  its 
semblance  of  the  blankness  which,  when  it  comes,  will 
not  be  temporary. 

The  third  time,  she  was  rewarded  by  greeting  eyes  and 
the  familiar,  fluttering  smile.  She  had  thought  her  father 
paler  than  ever,  while  he  slept,  bl '.  row,  as  his  eyes  met 
hers,  there  flickered  on  his  cheekbones  that  vivid  flush 
she  had  learned  to  dread.  Winking  back  the  sudden 
tears,  she  perched  herself  on  the  bedside,  saying  cheerily : 

"Why  Daddy,  the  fossil  man  must  have  been  too  much 
for  you!" 

Even  this  poor  little  joke  seemed  to  excite  her  father. 
His  thin,  delicately  shaped  hand  caught  hers  in  a  nervous 
grasp. 

"No,  no,  child!    He  didn't  say  so,  did  he?" 

Used  to  these  little  sensibilities  over  trifles,  Esther 
soothed  him  good-naturedly. 

"Of  course  he  wouldn't  say  anything  so  silly.  Daddy,  I 
was  only  joking." 

"Of  course,  of  course,  you  were  only  joking,"  he  re- 
peated more  quietly.  "The  fact  is  I  felt  dizzy  all  the 
looming." 

IS6 


THE    SABINE    FAMILY 


1 

1 


"You've  been  stooping  over  the  flower  beds  in  the  sun 
when  I  wasn't  there  to  look  after  you,  you  naughty  old 
man,"  she  adjured  him. 

"I  dare  say,  I  dare  say,"  he  agreed.  Then,  with  signs 
of  renewed  excitement : 

"Do  you  like  that  young  man,  Esther?  Did  you  see 
much  of  him  on  board  the  Wenonaht" 

His  vivid  blue  eyes  searched  her  face,  and  Esther  felt 
the  poor  thin  hand  burn  on  hers.  Surely,  he  must  be 
feverish,  she  decided.  She  would  not  talk  much  to  him, 
though  it  was  better  to  seem  to  chatter  a  little  before 
she  left  him  to  rest. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  did.  You  see,  that's  what  I  was  taken 
for— to  talk  fossils  to  him.  He  was  always  kind  to  me, 
too,  when  the  others  were  busy.  Why  did  you  ask, 
father  ?"  she  added,  with  new  curiosity. 

"Nothing,  nothing."  Then,  more  dreamily:  "He's 
only  a  stranger,  Nessie,  like  all  the  rest  who  come  and 
go."    Thinking  he  was  getting  sleepy,  Esther  agreed. 

"Of  course,  father.  But  mother  will  say  we're  talk- 
ing too  much.  Lie  still  and  rest  while  I  make  you  some 
tea." 

Esther's  heart  would  have  been  still  heavier  than  it  was 
if  she  had  seen  the  anguish  in  those  blue  eyes  as  they  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  door,  seen  the  conclusive  shudder  of  the 
thin  shoulders  as,  like  Hezekiah  of  old,  her  father  turned 
his  face  to  the  wall. 

The  summer  evening  came  in  placid  splendor,  the  north 
wind  that  all  day  had  rioted  in  from  the  Gulf,  crisp  and 
pure,  dying  down  and  letting  the  warm,  aromatic  land 
scents  steal  out  from  river  courses  ant'  upland  meadows, 
from  miles  and  miles  of  forested  hills. 

Esther's  anticipation  of  the  evening  leisure,  when  she 
might  sit  on  the  veranda  in  the  golden  dusk  and  talk  to 


.ff-f 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


Noel  in  that  pleasantly  discursive  fashion  of  comradeship 
formed  on  board  the  tVenonah,  had  been  killed  by  what 
followed  their  meeting. 

She  knew  that  she  would  fear  to  let  the  sound  of  her 
cheerful  voice  or  laugh  reach  her  mother  as  she  sat  alone 
in  their  sitting-room,  intent  as  usual  on  her  sewing,  knew 
that  she  could  not  put  away  the  thought  of  her  father 
lying  upstairs  in  bed.  ' 

With  the  oppression  of  the  shadowed  household  heavy 
upon  her,  she  wanted  to  get  out  somewhere  alone,  so 
though  rather  tired  from  her  tossing  on  the  cramped  deck 
of  the  ferry-boat,  she  made  an  unnecessary  errand  to  the 
post-office,  at  the  mother  end  of  the  village  street,  and 
slipped  down  the  meadow  path  while  Noel  was  sti'u  lin- 
gering over  his  supper. 

In  the  evening  there  was  always  a  little  group  around 
the  post-office,  that  center  of  country  life,  with  its  at- 
traction of  the  latest  telegraphic  news  and  weather  bul- 
letin. As  Esther  came  out  past  these  groups,  she  saw 
Noel's  angular  figure  strolling  toward  her  up  the  plank 
sidewalk. 

"The  finger  of  destiny,"  he  announced,  falling  into  step 
beside  her.  "For  the  second  time  to-day,  you  play  me  the 
unhandsome  trick  of  vanishing  into  space  just  when  I 
was  counting  on  your  society,  and  lo,  on  my  solitary 
prowl,  you  fall  into  luy  hands.  Don't  you  think,  now,  the 
least  you  can  do  is  to  come  along  and  show  me  some  good 
perch  for  watching  the  sunset  ?" 

Esther  laughed.  Once  out  of  the  home  atmosphere  her 
new  desire  for  solitude  left  her,  and  she  asked  nothing 
better  than  to  prolong  her  absence  in  Noel's  society. 

"Well,  it's  not  far  to  the  French  Church,"  she  acknowl- 
edged, "and  that  is  always  Virginia's  and  my  favorite 
lookout  place." 

158 


THE    SABINE    FAMILY 


"The  French  Church  be  it  then,"  he  agreed,  while 
Esther  had  a  sudden  shame-faced  recollection  that  in 
these  long  summer  twilights  the  wood-pile  seat  was  apt  to 
be  the  haunt  of  lover-like  couples.  How  awkward  she 
would  feel  should  they  stumble  on  one  now. 

Such  was  not  their  luck,  however,  and  the  flat  bit  of 
rough  grass  that  stretched  to  the  bluflF  edge,  the  wood- 
pile under  the  two  tall  firs,  were  in  solitude. 

"This  is  a  lookout  place  worth  having !"  Noel  decided 
after  a  comprehensive  glance  over  the  outspread  glories 
of  sea  and  hills.  "And  it  was  an  artist  who  made  the 
delightful  irregularities  of  that  wood-pile— here,  let  me 
fix  those  logs  for  you." 

Esther  settled  herself  on  her  sylvan  throne  with  a  little 
sigh  of  mingled  repose  and  freedom. 

"I'm  tired,"  she  said ;  "that  ferry-boat  deck  isn't  soft, 
and  the  craft  doesn't  run  to  benches." 

"Why  did  you  go?"  he  asked  idly. 

"Mother  wanted  some  fresh  butter  from  an  old  French 
woman  over  there  who  makes  it  extra  good.  We  didn't 
chum  much  this  week." 

"You're  a  great  housewife,  aren't  you?" 

Esther  laughed.  She  never  felt  any  grievance  over 
he-  household  labors.  The  activity  of  her  life  was  to 
her  its  saving  grace. 

"Needs  must.  I  ought  to  be,  after  seventeen  years  of 
hotel  life." 

"Seventeen  years?"  he  queried,  careful  not  to  reveal 
the  knowledge  acquired  from  Mrs.  Tom. 

"Yes,  we  came  to  Lanse  Louise  then,  when  I  was  five 
years  old.  My  mother  says  it  is  all  imagination,  but  I 
am  si»re  I  can  remember  things  that  happened  before 
that:  a  big  house,  with  women  in  pretty  clothes,  and 
music ;  there  used  always  to  be  music.    The  queer  thing 

IS9 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

■ — ~ 

is,"  she  went  on,  following  the  trail  of  vague  memories  in 
forgetfulness  of  her  listener,  "that  I  seem  to  have  got 
my  aunt  and  mother  mixed  up  in  my  mind.  There  was 
a  Mrs.  Converse,  who  would  take  me  on  her  knee  and 
let  me  play  with  her  chains  and  bracelets.  I  can  see  now 
the  stones  that  I  loved  to  make  flash  in  her  rings.  She 
wouM  sing  to  me  and  teach  me  little  songs.  I  thought 
her  voice  was  like  the  angels'.  After  we  came  here,  I  al- 
ways wanted  to  talk  about  her  as  my  mother,  and  insisted 
that  my  name  was  Esther  Converse.  Then,  I  saw  that 
it  made  my  mother  cry,  and  she  said  my  aunt  was  dead. 
I  think  that  I  must  have  lived  with  her  once,  but  I  never 
liked  to  ask  my  bother." 

A  log  creaked  under  Noel's  arm,  and  Esther  looked 
around.  He  was  sitting  staring  across  the  bay  to  the 
dusky  Gaspe  hills,  above  whose  violet  outline  a  faint  glow 
told  of  the  coming  moon.  He  gave  no  sign  that  he  had 
been  listening,  and  all  at  once  Esther's  first  sense  of  his 
vague  aloofness,  his  impersonal  attitude  toward  life,  re- 
turned to  her.  Under  it,  she  became  conscious  that  she 
had  been  talking  very  fully  of  her  family  affairs  to  a 
stranger  who  could  hardly  be  expected  to  take  much 
interest  in  them — she,  who  from  that  realization  of  a 
darkened  home  which  had  grown  with  her  growth,  had 
always  felt  that  her  parents  were  to  be  mentioned  as  sel- 
dom as  possible  in  the  outside  world. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  bonng  you  with  my  nurs- 
ery recollections.  I  don't  know  how  I  came  to  be  so  stu- 
pid," she  protested,  aglow  with  vexation. 

He  looked  round  at  her  and,  under  the  deep  kindliness 
of  his  gaze,  a  kindliness  in  which  she  almost  fancied  a 
mingled  pity,  her  fears  vanished. 

"I  like  to  hear  you  talk  about  anything,  but  most  of 
all  about  yourself,"  he  said  simply. 

1 60 


SH 


"m 


THE    SABINE    FAMILY 


Sudden  tears  dimmed  Esther's  eyes,  an  unusual  mani- 
festation for  her,  but  the  day's  strain  had  told  on  her 
more  than  she  guessed. 

"Poor  me!  There's  not  much  in  my  mild  career  to 
tyic  about."  She  laughed  somewhat  tremulously.  Then, 
with  fresh  life  in  her  voice : 

"Oh,  look!" 

It  was  worth  looking,  for  the  moon's  red  disk  was  now 
peering  above  the  hill's  dark  outline,  and  the  surrounding 
sky  was  already  aglow,  while  far  across  the  still  water 
ran  the  path  of  the  Red  Swan. 

They  sat  in  silence  taking  in  at  every  sense  the  evening 
beauty,  though  perhaps  to  both  the  message  of  the  night 
meant  more  than  they  could  yet  put  in'    words. 

"I  shan't  forget  to-night  in  a  hurry,  oel  said,  when 
at  length  Esther  reluctantly  made  a  move,  and  she  for- 
bore to  ask  his  reason. 

Homeward,  down  the  straggling  village  street,  tlie 
quiet  houses  on  one  side,  the  steep  Bluff  on  the  other, 
they  went,  talking  now  of  the  winter  months  when  all 
the  country-side  made  merry  in  sleigh  drives  or  snowshoe 
tramps;  of  the  isolation  of  early  spring  when  the  thaw 
came  and  sometimes  even  the  mail  could  not  get  through 
for  a  fortnight. 

"Father  missed  his  paper  so  much,"  Esther  was  say- 
ing, "until  I  hit  on  a  way  of  saving  the  Montreal  Star  for 
next  winter.  Then,  if  the  mail  didn't  come,  he  could  just 
read  last  year's  one  of  the  same  date.  It  answered  cap- 
itally." 

"It  must  be  a  paper  that  is  ahead  of  its  time,"  Noel 
commented. 

"I  should  think  music  would  be  a  great  resource  at  such 
times,"  he  went  on  conversationally. 

"It  might  be,  yes,"  she  acknowledged.    "I  play  a  good 

i6i 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


deal  on  Virginia  Holbeach's  piano  when  I  am  up  at  the 
Bluff  House.     It  was  Miss  Creighton  who  taught  me 
most  of  what  I  know." 
"But  you  have  a  piano  in  the  hotel." 
"Only  in  the  public  drawing-room." 
"And  don't  you  practice  there?" 
"Not  ofte ..    Music  seems  to  give  my  mother  a  head- 
ache.   When  the  guests  are  playing  I  often  see  her  look- 
ing miserable." 
"That's  strange.    Doesn't  she  like  music?" 
"She  knows  all  about  it,  but  I've  never  seen  her  play. 
One  winter  I  asked  if  I  might  have  the  piano  moved  into 
our  sittmg-room.  but  she  said  it  would  take  up  too  much 
room." 

On  this  Noel  made  no  comment. 

They  had  come  to  the  brightly  lit  hotel  door.  At  first 
Esther  thought  the  veranda  was  deserted;  then  at  the 
further  end  over  in  the  comer  where  the  moon  made  an 
angle  of  light  she  saw  her  mother  leaning  forward  in  a 
straight-backed  armchair,  while  Dorval  half  sat  half 
leaned  against  the  railing  close  by.  looking  down  on  her. 
The  low  murmur  of  her  mother's  voice,  the  intent  poise 
of  Dorval's  figure,  gave  Esther  a  queer  little  momentary 
throb  of  misgiving,  before  the  latter,  hearing  their  foot- 
steps, came  forward  with  his  usual  greeting  of  every-day 
familiarity. 

They  sat  down  on  some  of  the  numerous  chairs 
grouped  about,  but  Esther  and  her  mother  were  both  very 
silent,  while  Dorval  and  Noel  talked  of  local  topics 
Noels  rapid  assimilation  of  facts  in  a  new  neighbor- 
hood generally  kept  one  person  busy  supplying  htm  with 
them. 

Presently  Mrs.  Sabine  went  indoors  and  Esther  fol- 
lowed her,  but  after  Dorval  had  left,  Noel  sat  smoking 

1 6a 


THE    SABINE    FAMILY 


one  cigarette  after  another.  There  were  many  problems 
working  in  his  mind,  but  his  most  coherent  expression  of 
them  lay  in  the  two  disconnected  phrases,  "Esther  Con- 
verse!" and  "Through  deep  waters." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  COUSINS 

M^itCUS  HOLBEACH'S  camp,  Owl's  Nest, 
was  noted  through  all  the  region  of  fishing 
rivers  for  a  solid,  if  simple,  comfort,  the 
result  of  long  experience  and  no  little  ex- 
penditm-e.  So,  for  the  first  few  days  Giles  was  pleasantly 
disappointed  in  camp  life,  finding  everything  on  a  more 
complete  scale  than  he  had  ventured  to  hope.  True,  he 
did  not  like  taking  his  morning  bath  in  the  river,  and  he 
was  worked  almost  into  a  fever  by  the  constant  visitation 
of  black-fiies,  against  which  all  systems  of  window- 
screens  and  bed-curtains  seemed  powerless.  Still,  with 
beginner's  luck,  he  managed  almost  at  once  to  land  a  fair- 
sized  salmon,  and  so  felt  that  he  might  rest  on  his  laurels. 
Then,  too,  his  note-books  were  filling  up  with  amazing 
local  facts,  for  the  men  about  the  camp  were  quick  to 
discover  his  ma^i  interest,  and  had  set  up  a  keen  rivalry 
in  supplying  the  most  startling  items. 

This  was  well  enough  until  the  rain  b^an,  a  whole 
week  of  cold  rain  and  driving  east  winds,  sufficient  to 
dampen  the  spirits  of  the  most  inveterate  sportsman. 

On  the  fourth  morning,  with  one  eye  swollen  from  a 
bite,  and  with  a  stiff  leg  from  a  fall  over  a  twisted,  dead 
stump,  Giles  was  conscious  of  a  distinct  sense  of  martyr- 
dom. Breakfast  had  suffered  from  a.  smoky  fire,  and  his 
clothes  felt  clammy  as  he  donned  them.  Marcus'  invari- 
able good  spirits  seemed  the  last  straw.    Brown  and  act- 

164 


THE    COUSINS 


ive,  he  actually  looked  as  though  ten  years'  burden  of 
life  had  been  lifted  from  his  shoulders. 

That  morning,  for  the  first  time,  Giles  funked  going  out, 
making  an  excuse  to  sit  by  the  fire  and  write  up  some 
notes,  when  the  daily  messenger  from  Lanse  Louise  came 
dripping  in  with  the  letters.  Among  these  was  one 
from  a  college  fr.»nd  of  Giles,  who,  having  married  a 
wealthy  American,  was  now  being  introduced  to  the  de- 
lights of  Newport.  "I  can  hardly  describe  things  better 
than  by  lying  it's  a  sort  of  mixture  of  the  best  part  of 
Cowes  and  Cannes,"  he  wrote. 

Now  Cannes,  with  its  many-raced  aristocracy,  came 
nearer  to  Giles'  idea  of  Heaven  than  seas  of  glass  and 
golden  harps,  and  as  he  read  the  urgent  invitation  to 
come  and  share  the  joys  of  villa  and  yacht,  his  heart 
swelled  with  bitterness. 

Most  men  would  have  considered  the  room  where  he 
sat  as  nearly  perfect  in  its  way,  and  for  its  purpose.  One 
wide  window  opened  onto  a  veranda  with  outlook  across 
a  steep  gorge  of  the  river,  to  a  hillside  varied  by  the  ten- 
der tints  of  early  summer  greenery. 

The  hut  itself,  an  up-to-date  cross  between  bungalow 
and  1<^  cabin,  stood  in  a  scattered  group  of  pine  trees, 
and  their  perpetual  murmur  toned  in  with  the  river's 
deeper  voice  from  the  rapids  below. 

The  room  was  paneled  with  varnished  wood  with  a 
golden-brown  surface  that  lighted  responsive  to  fire-glow 
or  sunshine. 

On  these  walls  were  a  varied  medley  of  sporting 
sketches  and  amateur  photographs,  of  moose  and  caribou 
horns,  snow-shoes  and  guns.  On  the  floor  were  dark 
bearskins,  dun-gray  moosehides,  and  strips  of  the  bright- 
hued  carpets  woven  in  French  farmhouses.  Deep  ham- 
mock-chairs afforded  comfortable  lounges,  and  magazines 

165 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


i''; 


I 


and  papers  were  scattered  about  in  as  great  abundance  as 
smoking  materials— what  could  man  want  more  for  his 
few  indoor  hours,  when  below  the  door  the  river  called 
with  its  good  chances  of  a  forty-pound  salmon  ? 

But  Giles'  mental  vision  was  occupied  with  smooth, 
white  yacht  decks,  Paris  toilettes,  fair  faces,  and  world- 
known  names. 

"These  Newport  villas  are  as  good  as  the  best  in 
Cannes,"  his  friend  wrote,  and  Giles  knew  what  a  Cannes 
villa  could  be. 

Then  a  brilliant  idea  seized  him.  Fate  might  have 
bound  him  to  marry  Marcus'  daughter,  but  surely  he  was 
not  bound  to  be  eaten  alive  by  Marcus'  black-flies  and  to 
break  his  legs  over  Marcus'  tree-stumps.  All  Englishmen 
who  came  to  Canada  went  to  Niagara  and  New  York. 
He  would  use  this  national  obligation  as  his  plea,  mak- 
ing it  understood  that  he  would  first  inform  Virginia  of 
the  good  fortune  in  store  for  her. 

If  he  were  once  engaged  to  the  girl,  her  father  would 
surely  feel  that  he  had  done  his  duty  and  might  be  al- 
lowed some  liberty.  At  her  age,  no  one  would  expect  an 
immediate  marriage. 

That  evening  after  dinner  he  made  his  suggestion  to 
Holbeach,  and  was  relieved  by  the  placid  fashion  of  its 
reception. 

True,  there  was  just  the  slightest  liftisg  of  Marcus' 
eyebrows  nr.i  the  faint  hint  of  a  smile  that  made  him  feel 
like  a  schcol-boy  detected  in  a  weakness  for  too  many 
jam  tarts. 

This  was  all  very  well,  he  decided,  with  a  sense  of  in- 
jury, but  Marcus  himself  had  not  always  played  the 
anchorite— witness  Lady  Warrenden  more  or  less  in  the 
background. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear  fellow.    Make  the  most  of  your 
166 


THE   COUSINS 


^ 


time,  by  alt  means.  It  will  be  pleasantcr  traveling  now 
than  a  month  later  when  the  heat  comes  and  the  hordes 
are  let  loose,"  was  Marcus'  response. 

Thus  simply  was  the  matter  settled,  and  it  was  only  as 
Gilef  was  ready  to  start  that  his  cousin  said  casually : 

"By-the-by,  I  hope  you  fully  understand  that  whatever 
way  you  young  folks  may  decide  matters,  you  and  I  re- 
main on  the  same  good  terms  as  before.  Girls  are  fanci- 
ful, you  know,  and  if  it  should  happen  that  Virginia 
shirks  the  idea,  we  must  make  the  best  of  things  as  they 
are." 

"Oh,  certainly,  certainly  I"  Giles  said  confusedly,  hardly 
for  the  moment  understanding  his  cousin's  meaning. 

That  Virginia  should  refuse  to  marry  him  seemed  too 
remote  a  possibility  for  consideration. 

While  Marcus  Holbeach  stood  in  the  driving  mist  by 
the  landing-place  watching  Giles'  head  behind  his  heaped 
luggage  in  the  canoe  that  was  rapidly  carrying  him 
down-stream,  a  great  sense  of  personal  relief  possessed 
him. 

"Whichever  way  it  works  out,  whether  he  becomes 
son-in-law  or  remains  merely  kinsman,  I  doubt  if  cousin 
Giles  and  I  ever  tempt  Fate  by  another  tete-a-tete  week 
in  a  fishing-camp." 

Thus  he  mused ;  then,  aristocratic  at  heart  as  he  was, 
he  dismissed  the  matter  with  "And  it  all  comes  of  poor 
Harold  having  married  that  vulgar  woman  1" 

These  same  rainy  days  had  been  passed  by  Miss 
Creighton  and  Virginia  in  the  busied  serenity  only  pos- 
sible to  those  who  have  no  foe  in  their  own  household,  no 
fear  of  outside  intrusion. 

Miss  Creighton  was  the  happy  possessor  of  a  hobby. 
For  years  her  leisure  had  been  given  to  the  study  of  the 
native  wild-flowers,  and  of  late  she  had  been  putting  her 
u  167 


MKROCOTY   MSOIUTION   TBT  CM*«T 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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w 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

knowledge  into  book  form,  specialized  as  "Canadian 
and  Indian  Folk-lore  of  Plants  and  Their  Medicinal 
Uses." 

"If  it's  ever  published  it  will  be  more  Mrs.  LeRoy's 
work  than  mine,"  she  would  say  apologetically.  And  in- 
deed that  lady's  diffuse  anecdotes  had  supplied  her  with 
rich  material. 

Virginia,  too,  had  her  indoor  hobby  in  photography, 
and  there  was  a  completely  fitted  up  room  at  the  Bluff 
House  for  her  work,  while  the  price  of  materials  and  in- 
struments was  never  considered  in  her  orders  to  a  Mont- 
real shop. 

From  childhood  it  had  come  naturally  to  her  wood-rov- 
ing habits  to  bring  home  to  Miss  Creighton  any  rare  or 
unusually  fine  blossom  or  plant,  and  just  as  naturally,  as 
she  grew  skillful  with  her  camera,  she  took  to  making 
picture  records  of  many  a  perishable  flower. 

And  so  she  came  to  have  a  hand  in  the  work  that  was 
in  preparation,  and  during  these  peaceful  stormy  days, 
though  no  storm  kept  her  entirely  indoors,  she  gave  many 
hours  to  developing,  or  enlarging  prints  of  the  plants  that 
Miss  Creighton  sat  writing  about. 

On  this  placid  state  of  affairs  the  news  of  Giles'  im- 
minent return  fell  as  a  disturbing  force. 

"Coming  to-morrow  afternoon,"  Virginia  said  in  dis- 
may to  Miss  Creighton.    "Do  you  suppose  he's  ill  ?" 

The  little  lady  sat  smoothing  her  pile  of  manuscript  as 
tenderly  as  though  about  to  be  reft  from  it.  With  all 
her  prim  aloofness  toward  life,  she  had  quick  sympathetic 
intuitions,  and,  though  no  hint  had  been  breathed  to  her, 
she  had  somehow  guessed  what  was  toward,  and,  know- 
ing Virginia,  scented  strenuous  times  ahead. 

Life  had  taught  Miss  Creighton  a  deep  distrust  of 
events,  and  her  private  idea  of  Paradise  was  a  place  where 
i68 


THE   COUSINS 


nothing  ever  happened.    She  was  careful  to  let  slip  no 
hint  of  her  misgiv:  igs  to  her  charge. 

"Tom  Rafuse  would  have  told  them  in  the  kitchen  if 

he  were  !ll,"  she  reassured  her.    "1  fancy  he  must  be  go- 

mg  off  on  a  trip  somewhere.    I  never  thought  he  seemed 

to  take  much  interest  in  fishing,"  she  added  thoughtfully. 

Virginia  laughed. 

"A  blind  mole  could  have  seen  that,  Marraine."  Then 
more  hopefully:  ' 

'Then  you  think  that  he'll  only  be  here  for  the  night?" 
II And  perhaps  one  day.    You  wouldn't  mind  that?" 
"No,"  was  the  dubious  retort.    "And,  anyway,  he's  sure 
to  be  pokmg  round  collecting  his  facts,  as  that  old  pro- 
fessor collected  butterflies." 

Armed  with  this  hope,  and  fortified  by  a  successful 
ramy  mommg's  trout-fishing,  Virginia  condescended,  the 
next  afternoon,  to  do  up  her  hair  in  its  more  elaborately 
mature  fashion  and  to  don  a  long  house  dress  of  white 
woolen  stuff  smartened  by  some  lines  of  scarlet  and  gold 
Eastern  embroidery. 

Perhaps  in  this  docility  there  was  rather  an  expression 
of  the  chatelame's  pride  in  suitably  welcoming  even  an 
undesired  guest  than  any  wish  to  deck  herself  for  Giles' 
benefit,  but  Miss  Creighton,  looking  on,  sighed  with  a 
woman's  wistfulness  for  the  passing  of  the  childhood 
over  which  she  had  watched. 

Giles,  coming  in,  chilled  and  cramped  from  canoe 
and  buckboard,  was  cheerfully  impressed  by  the  home 
scene. 

One  of  Miss  Creighton's  pleasant  gifts  was  a  talent 
for  household  decoration,  and  during  her  fifteen  years- 
sojourn  at  Lanse  Louise  she  had  been  gathering,  here  and 
there,  from  country  auctions  or  from  farmhouses  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  omnivorous  American  collector,  bits  of 
169 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

old  china,  quaint  little  mirrors,  slim  tables  or  secretaries, 
brought  long  ago  from  Jersey  or  France. 

She  had  kept  these  things  judiciously  enough  in  the 
background  to  avoid  the  second-hand  shop  look  which 
some  women  give  their  rooms.  They  merely  served  to 
blend  with  a  long-established  home  air  the  comfortably 
cushioned  modem  sofas  and  chairs  with  their  cheerful 
chintzes,  and  the  rich-tinted  Eastern  rugs. 

Save  for  the  careful  taste  that  had  assorted  them, 
there  might  have  seemed  too  daring  a  combination  of 
bright,  light  colors  in  the  room,  but  its  occupants  had 
learned  that  a  six  months'  white  winter  creates  a  craving 
for  indoor  brightness. 

Another  winter  craving,  the  craving  for  sight  and 
scent  of  growing  things,  was  satisfied  by  the  little  con- 
servatory opening  off  the  room,  and  now  aglow  with 
blossoms  too  fragile  for  the  sharp  northern  spring. 

Such  was  the  room  that  Giles  entered,  to  find  a  bright 
wood  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  sitting  before  it,  by  a  dainty 
tea-table,  Virginia,  in  the  dress  that  to  his  trained  eyes 
bore  the  stamp  of  a  French  dressmaker. 

"Heavens !  She  knows  how  to  dress !"  he  decided  with 
a  new  sense  of  satisfaction,  as  he  marked  the  peculiar  red 
enamel  buckle  and  buttons  and  the  coral-studded  chain 
around  her  neck,  that  matched  them  and  gave  such  a  fin- 
ish to  it  all. 

If  he  had  only  known,  it  was  Miss  Creighton  who, 
finding  the  whole  set  in  a  Montreal  shop,  had  secured 
it  for  the  adornment  of  her  charge,  who  wore  it  with  the 
cheerful  indifference  of  one  who  had  never  expressed  an 
ungratified  wish. 

As  a  rule,  Virginia  left  the  care  of  the  tea-table,  with 
other  such  responsibilities  to  her  governess,  but  half  an 
hoar  earlier  that  lady  had  said : 

170 


THE    COUSINS 


"Suppose  you  pour  out  tea  to-day.  I  want  to  go  on 
with  my  lace-work,  and  you  know  you  are  never  doing 
anything." 

"All  right,"  Virginia  agreed,  her  mood  still  bent  on 
fulfilling  her  duty  by  her  guest. 

"Really,  this  looks  quite  like  home !"  he  said,  stretching 
himself  in  his  armchair,  and  beaming  over  his  teacup  and 
buttered  toast. 

"Well,  it  is  home,"  Virginia  responded  literally.  Then, 
with  a  little  flash  of  eagerness:  "But  didn't  you  love 
Owl's  Nest?" 

The  up-river  camp  was  with  her  a  sort  of  religion,  and 
she  needs  must  respect  any  one  privileged  to  tarry  there. 
"Oh,  yes,  certainly.  A  most  interesting  place.  But 
haven't  you  sometimes  found  the  noise  of  the  river  a  bit 
monotonous?  It  and  the  pine  trees  makfe  a  rather  mel- 
ancholy chorus,"  he  ventured. 

"That's  what  I  like  best,"  she  retc  I,  her  amiability 
waning  before  such  heresy.  Then,  wit.,  an  eflfort  at  good 
manners :    "But  you  got  two  fish,  didn't  you  ?" 

"So  you  heard  of  that?  Yes,  they  were  satai<Hi,  yott 
know,"  he  informed  her  politely. 

"Well,  I  didn't  suppose  they  were  herring,"  she  said. 
Then,  meeting  V  -  Crelghton's  alarmed  glance,  she  has- 
tened to  offer  (         not  rolls  and  cake. 

Miss  Creightou  and  her  French  cook  had  arranged  a 
little  dinner  that  would  have  softened  the  heart  of  a 
woman-hater,  and  Giles  did  not  feel  at  all  like  a  woman- 
hater  that  evening  as  he  sat  at  the  pretty  table  with  its 
red-shaded  lights  and  heard  the  wind  howling  in  from  the 
Gulf  and  up  the  forest  gorges. 

He  was  still  young  enough  to  prefer  the  more  highly 
flavored  charms  of  the  matron  in  the  thirties  to  what  he 
had  always  mentally  dubbed  "school-girls,"  but  to-night, 
171 


i\>    f 

u 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

whether  his  Tomlinsonian  nature  expanded  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  housenold  comfort,  or  whether  it  was  given  him 
to  catch  a  fleeting  hint  of  the  graciousness,  the  rare  com- 
bination of  gentleness  and  force  of  budding  woman- 
hood, it  began  to  seem  to  him  eminently  desirable  that 
this  girl  should  become  his  wife.  Perhaps  the  slight 
doubt  cast  by  Marcus  upon  its  realization  made  the  proj- 
ect more  attractive  to  him.  However  it  was,  he  certainly 
exerted  himself  to  please  both  women,  and  Virginia  de- 
cided that  Giles  wasn't  so  hard  to  talk  to  after  all,  while 
Miss  Creighton,  looking  on,  speculated  on  what  would  be 
the  outcome,  and  if  it  were  possible  that  Virginia's  amia- 
bility had  a  deeper  root  than  a  girlish  pride  in  playing 
the  hostess.  ' 

All  three  had  rather  wondered  how  they  were  going  to 
get  through  the  evening,  and  Giles  had  even  thought  of 
an  early  retreat  to  his  cousin's  smoking  room  on  the  plea 
of  letter-writing. 

But  Virginia's  ready,  "Oh,  do  smoke.  You  know 
father  always  smokes  everywhere !"  disarmed  him. 

Then  he  was  lucky  in  beginning  to  ask  questions  as  to 
his  projected  tour,  for  Virginia  felt  a  bit  of  malicious 
pleasure  in  showing  him  that,  although  she  could  not 
respond  to  his  talk  of  England,  yet  she  was  not  altogether 
untraveled  and  could  sketch  him  out  a  good  itinerary 
from  Quebec  to  Montreal  and  Toronto  and  on  to  Niagara 
and  New  York. 

It  was  rather  fun  to  lay  down  the  law  to  Giles  as  to 
what  he  ought  to  do,  and  maps  were  got  out  and  the  two 
heads  bent  cbse  together  over  them  in  a  cousinly  fashion 
that  would  have  amazed  her  father  could  he  have  seen  it. 
It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Miss  Creighton  yielded  to 
temptation  and  quitted  her  post.  A  girl  who  was  trying 
♦o  prepare  herself  for  a  place  in  a  cousin's  shop  in  Que- 
172 


THE   COUSINS 


1 


bee  had  left  school  hopelessly  behindhand  in  arithmetic, 
and  Miss  Creighton,  always  ready  to  help  a  lame  dog 
over  a  stile,  had  offered  her  aid  in  the  evenings. 

The  girl  was  waiting  in  the  morning-room,  and  the 
kind  little  woman,  hating  to  disappoint  her  and  thinking 
she  was  not  needed,  slipped  away. 

But  Virginia  saw  her  go  and,  knowing  that  she  would 
not  reappear  for  an  hour  or  more,  felt  abandoned.  Her 
cheerful  eagerness  left  her,  giving  place  to  her  former 
brusque  aloofness.  Giles,  on  the  contrary,  considered 
that  Miss  Creighton  must  be  acting  on  a  hint  from  Hol- 
beach  to  give  him  his  chance,  and  his  spirit  rose  to 
achievement.  Seeming  to  lose  interest,  Virginia  pushed 
aside  the  atlas  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"Will  you  come  back  here  to  join  father  ?"'  she  asked, 
a  bit  drearily.  She  was  rapidly  tiring  of  her  guest,  and 
felt  sleepy  after  a  morning's  fishing. 

"Only  in  a  certain  case,"  said  Giles,  with  an  air  of 
mystery  and  a  meaning  glance  into  her  face.  The  sim- 
plicity of  her  apparent  desire  for  his  return  touched  his 
vanity. 

Some  instinct  made  Virginia  uneasy,  and  as  Giles 
leaned  forward  she  shoved  her  chair  a  bit  back.  As  he 
paused  expectantly,  she  seemed  to  have  no  choice  but  to 
ask: 

"What  would  that  be?" 

"Only  if  I  am  allowed  to  come  and  take  you  back  to 
England  with  me,"  he  said,  with  a  fair  amount  of  tender- 
ness. He  was  really  finding  this  love-making  come  more 
naturally  than  he  had  expected. 

Virginia's  heart  gave  a  wild  leap,  and  with  a  startled 
glance  she  measured  the  distance  between  herself  and  the 
door.  At  first  she  could  only  think  how  dreadful  it  would 
be  if  her  cousin  had  suddenly  gone  off  his  head,  then  all 

173 


Ill 

I!  ' 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

the  vague  distrust  with  whic  .  she  had  first  heard  of  this 
visit  crystalized  into  form  and  she  was  ready  to  stand 
on  the  defensive  of  her  heart's  desires  as  a  mother  bird 
guards  her  nest. 

Jack's  words  came  to  her  mind:  "I  wonder  if  your 
father  will  want  to  take  you  back  to  England  ?" 

She  had  little  guessed  how  much  worse  it  was,  and  that 
her  father,  still  not  wishing  to  be  bothered  with  her,  had 
planned  to  hand  her  over  to  the  first  person  willing  to 
take  her,  to  the  man  he  himself  despised.  So  she  said  to 
herself  in  new  bitterness  of  soul.  Hitherto  hers  had 
been,  even  while  she  was  set  apart  from  the  sweetness  of 
home  ties,  a  wistfully  friendly  outlook  toward  the  world ; 
now  her  soul  ai'med  itself  for  the  fray  through  which 
she  began  to  realize  that  she  could  alone  win  her  happi- 
ne-^j. 

Of  course,  she  was  unjust  to  her  father,  but,  when  the 
generations  clash,  youth  in  its  ignorant  egotism  generally 
is  horribly  unjust  to  its  elders,  as  perchance  it  comes  to 
realize  years  later  in  deep  repentance. 

Giles,  watching  her  with  a  gloating  eye  on  her  good 
points,  saw  the  new  glow  of  pride  and  purpose  in  her 
face,  and  took  it  for  delight  in  such  an  unexpected  pros- 
pect. 

How  absurd  in  Marcus,  he  thought,  to  attempt  to  en- 
hance her  value  by  pretense  of  uncertainty,  when  the 
girl  was  ready  to  drop  into  his  grasp  like  a  ripe  plum. 
An  amused  smile  dawned  on  his  face  and  he  would  have 
taken  her  hand  in  his,  but  that  was  not  practicable  when 
she  held  both  hands  so  tightly  together  in  a  nervous 
clasp. 

"But  if  I  wanted  to  go  to  England,  my  father  would 
take  me  himself,"  she  made  brave  protest,  with  fluttering 
color,  ignoring  what  lay  behind  the  words. 


THE    COUSINS 


The  smile  she  hated,  broadened,  as  though  the  idea 
were  amusing,  and  his  words  were  distinctly  patron- 
izing. 

'Would  he?  Well,  however  that  may  be,  I  think  you 
might  find  it  pleasanter  to  be  taken  there  as  my  wife,  and 
be  welcomed  to  Holbeach  Manor  by  the  village  people 
with  arches  and  flags  and  the  children  courtesying  in 
rows." 

Now  Virginia  knew  little  of  Holbeach  Manor  beyond 
the  fact  that  her  father's  paper  was  stamped  with  its 
address  and  that  when  he  was  in  England  she  wrote  to 
him  there.  Still,  ignorant  as  she  was  of  what  the  owner- 
ship of  such  an  English  place  implied,  she  instinctively 
felt  that  Giles  had  no  right  to  be  thus  offering  her  the 
entrance  into  her  father's  home. 

"But  Holbeach  Manor  is  my  father's,  not  yours,"  she 
asserted. 

The  words  irritated  Giles,  and  there  was  an  unmanly 
note  of  triumph  in  his  voice  as  he  answered : 

"Yes,  but  some  day  if  I  live  it  must  be  mine,  and  if 
you  choose,  mine  to  share  with  you.  In  the  meantime, 
your  father  would  like  us  to  live  there  with  him." 

So  it  was  true  then!  This  was  htr  father's  doing! 
Poor  Virginia  might  not  guess  at  the  remorseful  care 
that  prompted  the  wish,  could  only  resent  what  seer.i'.-d 
to  her  so  wanton  a  tamoering  with  the  order  of  her 
life. 

"Then  it  is  my  father  who  wants  this?" 

Even  Giles'  undisceming  spirit  could  not  fail  to  note 
the  desolate  echo  in  her  voice,  but  it  was  not  for  him 
to  be  moved  by  it. 

What  did  the  girl  mean  by  her  stupid  irresponsiveness  ? 
After  all,  she  must  be  less  quick-witted  than  he  had  sup- 
posed.   So  there  was  a  tolerant  superiority  in  his  answer. 


I7S 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


"It  stands  to  reason  he  would  like  a  marriage  that 
would  give  you  the  family  name  and  home." 

This  was  not  said  with  any  malicious  intent,  but  merely 
to  make  her  understand  her  privileges.  Far  as  she  was 
from  guessing  at  the  real  situation,  something  in  Giles' 
tone  that,  for  all  her  inexperience,  seemed  to  her  so  un- 
like that  in  which  a  man  woos  a  girl  to  be  his  wife, 
awoke  a  new  pride  in  Virginia,  a  pride  all  the  stronger 
for  its  undercurrent  of  distrust. 

Give,  not  keep,  the  family  name,  he  had  said,  and  to 
that  she  made  answer : 

"But  I  have  those  now." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  she  remembered  that  for  some  un- 
known reason  tnis  English  home  had  never  been  hers, 
and  her  cousin's  smile  emphasised  the  fact.  Giles  was 
rapidly  waxing  spiteful,  for  though  it  is  a  habit  to  limit 
such  a  quality  to  women,  yet  it  is  nearly  as  often  found 
among  men,  and  is  then  all  the  more  baneful  for  its  virile 
power.  Perhaps  this  spitefulness  was  enhanced  by  his 
doubts  as  to  the  innocence  with  which  Virginia  asserted 
her  claims.  Surely,  for  all  the  careful  remoteness  of 
her  upbringing,  the  girl  must  by  this  time  have  some  idea 
of  the  true  state  of  affairs.  Common  sense  must  tell  her 
that  there  was  some  reason  why  she  had  never  shared 
her  father's  home.  It  never  entered  his  head  that  to 
Virginia,  Lanse  Louise  and  the  Bluff  House  represented 
the  family  home,  and  that  she  had  hitherto  looked  on  her 
father's  absences  as  exiles  in  the  cause  of  business.  With 
Jack  LeRoy  and  Esther  Sabine  she  had  always  taken  it 
for  granted  that  her  father,  like  Mr.  Dorval  and  the 
Tathems,  had  some  big  business,  either  fish  or  lumber, 
which  kept  him  so  much  in  England.  Lanse  Louise  had 
small  idea  of  the  varied  round  that  makes  the  year  to 
those  who  toil  not  neither  do  they  spin.  Even  the 
176 


THE    COUSINS 


great  railway  king,  who'se  yacht  called  in  every  year  on 
its  way  to  and  from  his  North  Shore  river,  was  known 
to  be  a  strenuous  worker. 

"In  a  measure,"  Giles  loftil-  allowed.  "Virginia  Hol- 
beach  is,  no  doubt,  a  name  of  long  usage  in  our  family. 
But  you  would  find  it  aU  very  different,  once  you  were 
my  wife.  Then  you  could  really  share  your  father's 
life,  get  to  know  his  friends  and  help  him  entertain  them." 

Virginia's  disquietude  was  growing,  but  she  would  not 
show  it. 

"But  I  could  now  if  he  wished  it,"  she  asserted,  a  little 
tremor  in  the  words. 

Giles  warmed  to  the  fray.  If  she  didn't  understand 
what  an  honor  he  was  doing  her,  she  must  be  made  to. 

"You  could  hardly  do  so  in  England,  and  as  your 
father  gets  older  he  is  not  likely  to  come  across  here 
every  year.    He  was  not  out  last  year,  you  know." 

Her  eyes  widened,  while  dark  circles  showed  around 
them. 

Giles  went  on  more  persuasively : 

"Believe  me,  you  can  form  no  idea  of  the  brilliancy  of 
the  life  I  offer  you.  You  would  be  presented  at  court  on 
your  marriage,  and  as  my  wife  would  wear  thj  family 
jewels.  Your  father  would  doubtless  have  them  reset 
for  you." 

"If  my  father  has  any  jewelry  put  away  he  will  be 
sure  to  give  it  to  me  soon,  now  that  I'm  grown  up.  What 
else  would  he  do  with  't?"  Virginia  announced,  with  a 
certainty,  amounting  to  contempt  for  anyone  who  could 
suppose  otherwise.    Here  at  least  was  sure  grou.  i. 

"He  cannot  give  you  the  family  jewels  unless  you  are 
my  wife,"  Giles  said  sharply. 

"Why  not?" 

One  would  have  thought  Virginia's  whole   soul   was 


177 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

intent  on  jewelry  from  the  low-breathed  intensity  of  the 
question,  but  in  reality,  it  was  that  she  instinctively 
guessed  what  their  possession  stood  for. 

"Because  the  jewels  go  to  the  heir's  wife,  because 
you—"  he  hesitated  and  added  lamely :  "You  have  never 
been  known  at  home  as  his  daughter." 

"But  if  we  were  married,  and  lived  with  him,  every- 
one must  know  that  I  am  his  daughter." 

Virginia  had  grown  paler  and  paler  and  Giles  shrank 
before  the  insistent  question  of  her  eyes.  He  began  to 
wish  himself  well  out  of  the  business.  He  had  from  the 
first  decided  that  she  must  be  made  to  understand  she 
could  net  be  acknowledged  as  Marcus'  drughter,  but  it 
did  not  seem  so  easy  a  feat  as  he  had  supposed.  How- 
ever, he  did  his  best. 

"Not  necessarily  so.  You  might  call  him  unde  if 
you  liked.  He  has  always  seemed  more  like  an  uncle 
than  a  cousin  to  me.  It  would  be  enough  to  say  that 
you  were  a  Canadian.  Canadians  are  rather  the  fashion 
now  in  political  circles." 

He  was  talking  on,  trying  to  get  safely  over  the  thin 
ice,  when  Virginia  broke  in,  standing  before  him  now  like 
an  accusing  spirit. 

"You  mean  that  he  would  be  ashamed  of  me?" 

The  words  were  vibrant  with  pain,  her  head  was 
poised  backwrrds.  Giles  had  never  realized  that  she 
could  look  so  positively  beautiful. 

"No,  no,"  he  said  quickly.  "Don't  you  see  that  he 
wants  you  to  have  your  share  of  everything  ?" 

"if  he  does,  he  can  give  it  to  me  himself."  Her  voice 
trembled  a  bit  on  the  words. 

"No,  he  cannot.  Haven't  I  told  you,  my  dear  girl, 
that  the  place  comes  to  me?"  Giles  answered  more 
sharply. 

178 


THE   COUSINS 


Then  Virginia  let  her  passion  loose: 

"And  why  should  I  care  for  a  place,  for  people  I  have 
never  seen  ?  What  if  I  don't  want  your  jewels  or  your 
arches  and  flags?  This  is  my  home,  here,  and  these 
people  are  the  only  friends  I  have  ever  known.  They 
will  never  be  ashamed  of  me." 

So  this  quiet  school-girl  had  a  temper  behind  her 
Sainte  Kitouche  aspect.  This  was  a  little  too  much  of 
a  good  thing,  Giles  decided.  Still,  with  a  home  at  Hol- 
beach  Manor  and  a  seat  in  Parliament  in  prospect,  he 
persevered,  though  with  an  air  of  wounded  feeling. 

"I  must  say  this  is  a  strange  way  to  take  my  offer  of 
the  best  I  have.  Surely,  you  must  see  that  in  making  it 
I  can  only  wish  your  happiness." 

Virginia's  fine  nature  was  quick  tc  eel  the  reproach 
and  she  scanned  him  doubtfully,  '^iien,  her  instinct 
warned  her  that  the  words  did  not  ring  trie,  »hat  they 
were  not  the  expression  of  his  real  feeling.  But  trr*.  or 
not,  anything  Giles  felt  or  said  was  of  small  mom'.  '  to 
her  beside  this  new  and  startling  fact :  there  was  s  -  '  le 
reason  for  her  never  having  been  acknowledged  in  Eng- 
land as  her  father's  daughter. 

"But  you  would  not  want  anyone  to  know  who  I  really 
am  ?"  she  asked,  clinging  to  her  point. 

Giles'  attempted  suavity  was  gone  from  his  voice,  which 
had  a  snappy  sound  in  it. 

"No,  that  I  should  have  to  ask  you  to  promise,"  he  said 
firmly. 

"Whyi^' 

Giles  was  not  as  thick-skinned  as  he  thought  himself, 
and  before  that  direct  question,  put  with  the  concentrated 
force  of  deadly  fear  by  the  girl  who  seemed  all  at  once 
to  be  set  in  an  atmosphere  of  solitude,  herself  against  the 
worM,  he  wavered  in  mute  embarrassment. 


179 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


'' 


[i       (i. 


As  they  faced  each  other,  his  silence  gave  Virginia 
her  answer.  Slowly,  a  deep  crimson  tide  spread  from 
her  neck  to  her  forehead,  but  her  head  never  drooped, 
her  eyes  still  fronted  him  gallantly.  She  had  understood 
at  last.  For  all  the  careful  seclusion  of  her  life,  she 
had  read  novels,  and  heard  school-girls  talk,  and  now, 
in  a  moment,  every  scattered  fact  pieced  itself  in  a  new 
mosaic,  the  dark  mosaic  of  an  overshadowed  birth.  As 
yet,  the  grief  and  bitterness  were  hardly  realized.  All 
she  was  fully  conscious  of,  was  her  scornful  wrath 
against  the  maw,  the  kinsman  who  could,  for  his  own 
ends,  thus  humiliate  her. 

After  one  little  choking  gasp,  she  spoke,  her  words 
coming  in  a  clear  undertone : 

"It  does  not  matter  to  me  at  all  what  you  ask  or  what 
you  want.  It  only  matters  that  you  shall  go  away,  and 
that  I  should  never  see  you  again.  You  are  leaving  in 
the  mail-boat,  aren't  you  ?  Well,  she  sails  at  ten  tomor- 
row morning,  and  I  shall  keep  out  of  the  way  until  you 
are  gone.    That  is  all." 

She  was  turning  away,  in  complete  finality,  when  Giles, 
now  thoroughly  alarmed  for  himself,  broke  out : 

"I  swear,  I  had  no  thought  of  hurting  you  in  any  way. 
How  was  I  to  guess  that  you  had  no  idea  of  the  true 
state  of  affairs  ?  You  surely  cannot  wish  to  ruin  me  by 
making  trouble  between  your  father  and  myself?" 

Her  utter  contempt  gave  Virginia  self-control.  She 
turned,  her  hand  on  the  door,  and  studied  him  with  a 
sort  of  curiosity,  as  though  gazing  at  a  new  species  of 
human  being. 

"You  think  I  would  speak  to  my  father  of  what  has 
happened?    If  you  are  an  English  gentleman,  I  am  glad 
my  only  friends  are  common  Canadians.    You  can  tell 
my  father  your  own  story.    I  shall  say  nothing." 
1 80 


THE   COUSINS 


The  words  were  so  quietly  spoken  that  Giles,  intent 
on  his  own  interests,  hardly  felt  their  sting  until  later 
when  memory  reproduced  them. 

"But  if  he  questions  you  ?"  he  said  eagerly. 

"I  doubt  if  he  does,"  and  now  came  a  smile  that  did 
not  suit  those  young  lips.  "If  he  should,"  she  went  on, 
"I  shall  only  tell  him  that  I  don't  like  you,  and  never 
could,  which  I'm  sure  is  true  enough.  I'll  go  now, 
please.  Miss  Creighton  will  see  you  have  everything  you 
want." 

Without  another  word  or  look  she  was  actually  gone 
and  Giles  was  left  planted  there,  furious  and  sheepish, 
feeling  that  he  had  somehow  made  a  great  mess  of  things, 
and  realizing  that,  after  all,  Virginia  Holbeach  would  de- 
velop into  a  wife  of  whom  any  man  might  be  proud. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


A  COMFORTER 


1:  i: 

it  a 


WHEN  Virginia  fled  from  her  interview  with 
Giles,  carrying  off  the  verbal  honors  of 
war,  she  hurried  out  by  a  side  door  into 
tSie  cooling  shadow  of  the  night. 

The  storm  had  cleared  and  the  wind,  veering  into  the 
northwest,  was  driving  great  black  masses  of  cloud-wrack 
across  rain-swept,  star-studded,  purple  spaces.  From  the 
wet  garden  came  up  the  heavy  scent  of  hardy  roses,  and 
long  yellow  rays  from  the  lighted  windows  showed  the 
drooping  pink  and  white  blossoms. 

The  girl  stood  with  parted  lips,  her  hands  clasped  on 
her  breast  to  still  its  rise  and  fall. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  her  carefully  sheltered  life  that 
she  had  ever  interchanged  an  angry  word,  and  her  whole 
being  was  in  tumult. 

But  beneath  the  physical  tumult  was  the  chill  conscious- 
ness of  the  fact  that  shattered  all  the  dear  homely  aspect 
of  her  world.  And  the  strangest  thing  about  this  fact 
was  its  sudden  familiarity.  She  knew  now  that  she  had 
always  felt  that  she  and  her  father  did  not  stand  in  quite 
normal  relations  to  each  other.  Until  this  summer  she 
had  only  seen  him  from  a  childish  standpoint,  but  it  was 
inevitable  that  of  late  she  should  have  come  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  charm  that  Marcus  could  always  at  will 
exert  over  women. 

.182 


A   COMFORTER 


And  perhaps  it  was  the  sense  of  this  charm  which  had 
caused  the  bitterness  of  her  cry  to  Jack :  "Father !  What 
do  I  matter  to  him  I" 

She  could  not  but  have  come  to  feel  a  pride  in  be- 
longing to  him,  and  now  it  seemed  in  some  way  she 
hardly  understood  she  did  not  belong  in  the  same  fashion 
as  she  had  thought.  Giles  had  certainly  made  that  much 
plain  to  her. 

It  was  lucky  for  her  tonight  that  she  v/as  saved  from 
that  solitary  bitterness  that  oftener  than  we  think  leaves 
enduring  marks  on  young  lives,  by  recently-heard  words 
treasured  warm  at  her  heart. 

Jack  was  away  in  the  outside  world,  but  she  still  heard 
him  asking  if  she  could  some  day  go  away  alone  with 
him  to  face  the  hardships  of  the  woods.  Oh,  if  only  she 
might  go  now,  at  once,  without  having  to  meet  her  father 
again,  with  that  strange  new  thing  between  them  I 

There  had  been  no  word  of  writing  between  her  and 
Jack,  and  she  somehow  knew  that  he  felt  he  had  no  right 
to  that  at  present.  But  now  she  meant  to  write  and  to 
get  her  letter  to  him  even  if  she  had  to  ask  Mr.  Dorval 
to  forward  it.  Mr.  Dorval !  The  name  brought  a  new 
thought,  and  with  the  thought  a  hot  flush.  Did  he  know  ? 
And  Miss  Creighton  ?  .  .  .  Perhaps  they  nil  knew. 

Well,  none  of  them  should  speak  of  it  to  her,  or  guess 
what  Giles  had  revealed  to  her. 

Years  of  childish  self-repression  came  to  her  help  now. 
Other  girls,  used  to  a  feminine  atmosphere  of  expansive- 
ness,  might  have  been  crying  on  their  beds.  Her  first 
instinct  was  to  get  her  letter  to  Jack  written  at  once. 

Once  in  her  own  room  Virginia  went  direct  to  her 
writing-table  and  poured  out  the  ready  words.  There 
were  no  reticences  needed  here.  Jack  and  she  belonged 
to  each  other  in  the  world-old  fashion. 


183 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

Thus  she  wrote : 

Oh,  Jack,  I  understand  now  the  reason  why  father 
never  had  me  with  him  but  left  me  out  here  alone  when 
he  went  back  to  his  English  home.  I  wonder  if  they  all 
know  it,  if  you  unuerstood  it  before  I  did?  But  that 
doesn't  matter,  for,  anyway,  you  won't  despise  me,  even 
if  the  others  do.  I  found  it  out  to-night  from  dear  Cousin 
Giles,  who,  it  seems,  was  fetched  out  to  marry  me  be- 
cause I  c(  uldn't  go  to  father's  home  except  as  Giles's 
wife ;  at  least,  thars  what  he  said.  As  if  I  wanted  to  go  I 
As  if  I  wanted  anything  but  to  go  away  with  you — just 
we  two  by  ourselves.  .  .  .  Oh,  Jack,  come  soon  and  take 
me!  No,  I  didn't  mean  to  worry  you.  You  mustn't 
think  I  won't  be  brave  and  wait  till  the  time  comes. 
Only  remember — I'm  glad  to  think  of  giving  up  all  the 
things  I've  had  here,  and  I'll  be  glad  to  live  in  a  rough 
hut  and  to  cook  and  wash  for  you.  I'll  learn  how,  never 
fear.  Don't  think  I'm  unhappy,  for  I  can't  be  unhappy 
when  I've  got  you,  and  I  have,  haven't  I,  Jack? 

Always  yours, 

Virginia. 


The  next  morning  while  Giles  was  loitering  over  the 
comforts  of  a  solitary  breakfast,  a  bit  uncomfortable  as 
to  the  ultimate  result  to  himself  of  Virginia's  wrath,  but 
for  the  present  thankful  to  get  away  at  any  price,  Vir- 
ginia was  slipping  down  tha  wood-path  to  the  shore. 

The  sky  was  cfoudless  after  the  storm,  and  from  the 
soaked  woods  went  up  a  hundred  aromatic  scents  in  the 
sunshine. 

"The  summer's  ateiost  gone,"  the  girl  .lOted  idly  as 
she  saw  the  coral-red  clusters  that  had  replaced  the  ivory 
white  of  the  dwarf  cornel  blossoms. 

That  short  northern  summer  had   given    and   taken 

much,  and   for  all   she   looked  the   same   slim   girlish 

creature  in  her  red  jersey  and  short  skirt,  she  would 

never  be  quite  the  same  again.    Life  would  bring  her 

184 


A   COMFORTER 


better  things,  fuller  developments  and  powers,  but  the 
first  rosy  flush  had  faded  into  broad  daylight. 

The  Basin  still  lay  unrippled  by  a  sea  breeze,  and  a 
rising  tide  swept  the  canoe  across  to  the  opposite  shore 
with  little  effort  on  her  part.  She  was  on  her  way  to  the 
pink  cottage. 

Early  as  it  was,  Mrs.  LeRoy  was  in  her  garden,  busy 
picking  the  raspberries  she  made  into  the  jam  that,  as  she 
had  told  Jack,  was  a  part  of  her  little  income.  Summer 
visitors  who  had  once  tasted  it  always  v/anted  some  jars 
to  take  back  to  Montreal  or  Quebec. 

The  dark  blue  cotton  dress  was  tucked  up  from  the 
dewy  grass,  and  a  w?ll-wom  tweed  cap  of  Jack's  rested 
on  the  back  of  her  'iead. 

She  came  down  the  path,  basket  on  arm.  Czar  close  at 
her  heels,  and  paused  in  a  sunny  angle  of  the  house  to 
gaze  fondly  on  three  tomato  plants.  Grown  in  an  old 
tin  in  the  kitchen  window,  set  out  with  loving  precautions 
against  late  frosts,  they  had  so  far  survived. 

But  on  the  Gulf  shores,  July  is  the  only  month  without 
a  frost  and  with  August  peril  would  come  upon  them. 

Like  Mr.  Sabine,  Mrs.  LeRoy  had  a  passion  for  sailing 
close  to  the  wind  with  nature,  and  the  fact  that  she  had 
once  succeeded  in  growing  a  handful  of  green  tomatoes, 
afterwards  ripened  in  the  kitchen  window,  was  a  life-long 
triumph. 

"If  they  ain't  in  blossom,"  she  murmured  proudly,  "I 
must  look  out  an'  keep  that  sacking  handy  to  cover  them 
the  first  chilly  nights.  It  does  seem  as  though  the  Lord 
might  have  added  a  bit  on  to  our  summer  at  both  ends 
without  its  hurting  anyone,  but  I  guess  He  knows.  The 
land's  sakesi  If  it  ain't  you  I"  she  broke  out,  as  Vir- 
ginia's red  figure  appeared  between  the  spruce  trees,  and 
the  dog  ran  to  meet  her. 

185 


1:1 


lii  ii 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Yes,  it's  me,"  was  the  obvious  answer. 

"What  are  you  doing  out  this  time  of  day  ?  Had  your 
breakfast?" 

"Yes — at  least  a  cup  of  tea  in  my  room.  You  know 
I'm  often  out  quite  early." 

"  'Tain't  good  for  you.  You  might  get  consumption 
comin'  out  in  the  mornin'  air  on  an  empty  stomach." 

Virginia  laughed  and  some  new  note  in  the  sound 
caused  the  wise  old  eyes  that  had  shed  such  bitter  tears 
in  their  day  for  their  own  and  others'  sorrows  to  peer 
at  her  shrewdly. 

"Set  right  doWn  here  on  the  steps  an'  I'll  fetch  you 
some  of  my  raspberries  an'  cream  presently,"  said  Mrs. 
LeRoy,  lowering  her  heavy  bulk  with  a  camel-like  fold- 
ing-up  process  to  the  seat  beside  her. 

"The  tomatoes  is  in  flower,"  she  began  as  a  conversa- 
tional opening. 

"You  don't  say  sol"  said  the  girl  somewhat  list- 
lessly. She  knew  the  importance  of  the  event,  but 
she  was  wondering  how  to  open  the  question  of  Jack's 
letter. 

Something  in  Virginia's  drooping  attitude  decided  Mrs. 
LeRoy  on  a  front  ati.ock. 

Laying  her  big  work-worn  hand  on  the  slim  brown 
one,  she  asked  gently:  "Why,  what's  the  matter  with 
the  child?    You  ain't  frettin',  are  you?" 

The  hand  under  her  own  trembled,  but  Virginia's  voice 
was  clear.  "I  don't  need  to  fret  when  I've  got  Jack,"  she 
said  softly. 

"Got  Jack?" 

There  was  a  certain  dismay  in  the  words,  as  though 
events  were  marching  a  bit  too  fast  for  the  speaker. 

Across  the  set  strain  of  the  girl's  face  there  flickered 
the  tight  of  a  happy  memory. 
i86 


A   COMFORTER 


"Yes,  he  told  me  that,  you  know,  the  morning  the  boat 
was  late,  and  he  came  down  to  our  landing." 

"Well,  if  he  don't  beat  anything!"  was  the  irrepressibly 
proud  comment,  before  a  sense  of  decorum  prevailing, 
and  quite  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  she  had  spurred  him 
on,  Jack's  mother  protested :  "All  the  same,  he  hadn't 
no  right  to  be  sayin'  them  things  to  you,  sore  as  he  must 
ha'  been  tempted,  while  he's  doin'  your  father's  work 
an'  takin'  his  money." 

The  sound  of  her  father's  name,  together  with  the  im- 
plied blame  to  Jack,  roused  Virginia. 

"Yes,  Jack  had  a  right  to,"  she  hesitated,  and  one  of 
her  rare  blushes  rose,  "for  it  was  my  fault.  I— I  ran 
down  to  meet  him." 

A  reminiscent  chuckle  told  that  her  listener  was  re- 
calling the  days  when  she  too  was  young. 

"And  there  're  other  things  that  matter  more  than  any 
money,  and— I've  no  one  but  Jack  now  I" 

The  pained  echo  in  the  words  told  the  whole  story  to 
the  hearer  who  already  knew  so  much.  A  pallor  crept 
over  the  leathery  texture  of  the  old  woman's  skin,  and 
she  paused  a  moment  before  she  murmured : 

"For  sure  he  never  went  an'  told  you!  Well,  I  just 
wish  I  had  bitten  that  stupid  old  tongue  of  mine  out, 

afore " 

A  note  of  triumph  broke  in  on  her  words 
"Then  you  knew,  and  he  knew  and  he  cares  for  me  all 
the  same!    Then  nothing  else  matters.    Some  day  he'll 
take  me  away  from  them  all." 

Mrs.  LeRoy  shook  her  head,  and  her  words  came, 
slow  and  weighty.  She  wanted  so  desperately  to  help 
the  girl,  both  for  Jack's  sake  and  her  own. 

"See  here,  child,"  she  began.    "This  being  the  first 
time  «  you've  rubbed  up  against  the  dark  things  of  the 
187 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

world,  'tain't  to  be  wondered  at  that  you  take  it  hard, 
but,  whatever  you  do,  don't  you  go  making  things  out 
worse  than  they  are.  That's  a  trick  we  mostly  have 
when  we're  young,  an'  sorry  enough  we're  apt  to  be  for  it 
afterwards,  when  real  heart-breaks,  as>you've  got  to  set 
your  teeth  to,  crane  along.  Look  you,  mind  you  now, 
there  ain't  no  shame  to  you  in  this,  an'  don't  you  fancy 
there  is.  As  for  your  pa,  if  I  could  tell  you  half  what 
he  did  for  Jack's  father  in  his  worst  days  when  other 
friends  fell  off  like  maple-leaves  after  a  frost,  you'd  know 
how  full  of  goodness  his  heart  is.  Yes,  goodness,"  she 
repeated  firmly,  as  a  little  protesting  sound  came  from 
Virginia.  "And  while  you  don't  know  how  things  came 
about,  you  ain't  got  no  right  to  judge  him,  an'  if  you  do, 
for  sure  there'll  come  a  day  you'll  be  sorry  for  it.  I 
don't  know  the  story  myself  an'  don't  want  to,  but  if 
you've  been  thinking  of  your  poor  young  mother  an'  of 
her  being  wronged — "  Virginia  started  convulsively,  but 
the  kind  g^asp  held  her  hand  fast, — "well,  I'd  be  willin' 
to  take  me  Bible  oath  as  Marcus  Holbeach  never  bruck 
a  woman's  heart  since  he  was  bom.  See  here  now — " 
and  the  deep  voice  softened  to  persuasiveness — "I'm 
Jack's  mother,  an'  I  know  you've  got  a  sort  of  liking  for 
me,  uneducated  old  thing  as  I  am  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  dear  Mrs.  LeRoy!" 

"Yes,  child,  I  know  you  think  a  lot  more  of  me  than 
you  need  to.  Well,  then,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  as 
you  won't  go  doing  nothing  to  hurt  your  father's  feelings, 
for  remember,  old  folks  has  feelings  just  as  well  as  young 
ones,  an'  more  so,  perhaps.  You've  got  a  kind  of  look 
in  your  eye  I  don't  trust,  like  a  pup  when  he's  meanin' 
to  go  off  rabbit-huntin'  on  the  sly." 

Virginia  had  to  laugh,  though  the  tears  were  near, 
too. 

i88 


A   COMFORTER 


The  big  heart  was  exerting  its  humanizing  influence 
on  her,  and  she  could  not  but  respond  to  its  demand. 

"What  do  you  think  I  would  do?"  she  demanded.  "I'm 
not  going  to  run  away  if  that's  what  you're  afraid  of. 
All  the  same,  I  tnighl,  if  I  hadn't  Jack  to  wait  for,"  she 
added  with  a  pretty  touch  of  defiance. 

But  Mrs.  LeRoy  was  unsatisfied. 

"Well,  what  is  it  you  want  ?  For  sure  you're  wanting 
something." 

Then  it  came  out.  "I  want  to  send  a  letter  to  Jack  and 
he  forgot  to  tell  me  where  to  write." 

"He  didn't  tell  you  'cause  he  knew  it  wouldn't  be  play- 
ing fair  to  be  writing  to  you  yet  awhile." 

The  mother  was  taking  part  against  her  own  desires, 
for  her  son,  and  her  words  failed  to  carry  conviction. 

"But  I  must  send  a  letter  now,"  Virginia  asserted. 

"To  ask  him  to  come  back  ?" 

"No." 

"Just  to  tell  him  how  miserable  you're  feeling?" 

"Not  exactly."  She  could  not  quite  deny  the  accusa- 
tion. 

"Well,  see  here  now.  You  was  always  a  plucky 
child,  never  cryin'  out  when  you  hurt  yourself,  an'  you'll 
be  pluckier  than  ever  if  you  keep  quiet  now  and  let  Jack 
put  all  his  heart  into  the  work  as  he's  tryin'  to  do  for 
you,  without  thinkin'  you're  frettin'  here.  What's  the 
good  of  telling  things,  anyway?  If  you  let  'em  alone 
they  mostly  tell  themselves  in  their  own  way.  Come 
now,  you've  lots  of  sense,  and  you  see  what  I  mean,  don't 
you,  child?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  won't  try  to  send  that  letter?" 

"No.    You're  right.    It  was  selfish  and  stupid  in  me." 

And  then  Virginia  broke  down  and  cried  out  her  sor- 


189 


Il'i  i 

J   i  I 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

rows  on  Mrs.  LeRoy's  feather-bed  bosom,  and  was 
soothed  and  petted  with  maternal  wiles,  and  finally 
coaxed  into  eating  tome  of  the  raspberries  and  cream 
which  the  good  woman  felt  ought  to  be  good  for  any 

trouble. 


li 


ill: 


was 
ally 
sam 
any 


CHAPTER  XX 


MIDSUMMER 


THE  brief  northern  summer  with  all  its  concen- 
trated glamour  lay  over  Lanse  Louise. 
Above  the  western  hills  the  afterglow  lin- 
gered late  into  the  night,  and  pleasure- 
seekers  drifted  about  the  Basin,  or  picnicked  on  the  sandy 
beaches  of  the  Barrachois,  regardless  of  the  passing 
hours,  while  some  inland  folk,  who  joyed  in  starting  out 
with  the  boats  at  daylight  to  the  codfish  grounds,  ap- 
peared never  to  go  to  bed  at  all. 

The  barefoot  brown  children  from  the  Indian  camp 
went  from  house  to  house  with  baskets  of  wild  straw- 
berries in  satiny  nests  of  birch-bark. 

The  water  was  warm  enough  for  bathing,  and  the  hotel 
verandas  and  windows  at  all  times  of  the  day  were 
decked  with  wet  garments. 

To  everyone  in  the  hotel  it  was  the  busiest  season  of 
the  year,  for  the  Chateauguay's  last  downward  trip  had 
filled  the  house  to  overflowing.  From  the  crowded  din- 
ing-room tables  might  be  heard  the  chatter  of  two 
tongues,  the  shriller  French  prevailing.  As  usual,  the 
two  nationalities  kept  to  themselves,  a  large  French 
family  group,  with  a  name  historic  in  Canada's  annaU, 
occupying  the  cottage  behind  the  house,  trooping  down  in 
a  body  to  daily  mass  in  the  French  Church  before  the 
English  folk  were  out  of  bed.  Esther  expected  that,  as 
usual  at  this  season,  her  leisure  time  would  be  curtailed, 
191 


fi  i 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

that  her  morning  Uski  would  be  prolonged,  the  outdoor 
commiMiont  for  her  mother  more  frequent.  She  had 
not  expected,  though,  that  the  whole  weight  of  active 
household  superintendence  would  fall  upon  her  through 
her  mother  spraining  her  ankle. 

It  was  a  queer  accident.  No  one  heard  Mrs.  Sabine 
fall  while  carrying  a  tray  of  glass  downstairs.  Esther 
coming  in  from  the  garden  saw  the  broken  glass  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  and  exploring,  found  her  mother  on 
the  sitting-room  sofa  with  a  bandaged  ankle,  which  she 
said  hurt  her  to  put  to  the  ground. 

Esther  wanted  to  send  after  the  old  doctor,  but  Mrs. 
Sabine  remembered  that  he  had  that  morning  been 
fetched  by  some  fishermen  over  to  Grand  Greve,  and 
was  not  likely  to  be  back  before  the  next  day.  So  it 
ended  in  his  not  seeing  the  ankle  at  all,  though  it  was  a 
fortnight  before  Mrs.  Sabine  made  an  effort  to  resume 
her  usual  activity.  In  the  meantime,  Esther  took  her 
place,  seeing  the  midsummer  days  go  without  any  of  that 
outdoor  life  which  compensates  to  northern  folk  for  the 
long  winter  months.  She  took  it  with  her  usual  good- 
natured  philosophy,  though  it  was  trying  when  Noel  asked 
her  to  sail  with  him  across  the  Bay  on  an  all-day  fossil- 
hunting  expedition,  to  have  to  refuse  and  go  back  to 
sorting  linen  and  giving  out  stores. 

It  almost  seemed  to  her  once  or  twice  that  her  mother 
invented  things  for  her  to  do,  so  often  was  her  late  after- 
noon leisure  disturbed,  and  these  claims  on  htr  time  never 
came  so  frequently  as  when  Noel,  having  returned  from 
an  early  outing,  was  lounging  on  thj  veranda  ready, 
she  knew,  to  intercept  her  when  she  appeared. 

She  submitted  to  every  demand,  but  grew  crafty  in 
saving  her  evenings  by  slipping  off  while  supper  was 
goinp  on.    Sometimes  she  would  go  to  the  Bluff  House 
192 


MIDSUMMER 


and  beguile  Virginia  out  in  the  boat,  sometimes  have  • 
musical  evening  with  Mist  Creighton. 

Esther  wondered  if  it  were  the  fault  of  her  own  mood 
that  even  this  peaceful  refuge  seemed  to  have  lost  some 
of  its  habitual  serenity. 

Miss  Creighton's  wistful  face  had  the  worn,  haggard 
look  caused  by  wakeful  nights,  and  she  watched 
Virginia  nervously,  while  the  latter  either  kept  a  brood- 
ing silence,  or  chattered  in  a  restless  fashion  equally  un- 
like her. 

When  Noel  was  not  off  on  a  two  or  three  days'  trip, 
he  generally  managed  to  join  Esther  some  time  during  the 
evening,  either  appearing  on  the  3luff  House  veranda 
in  his  casual  fashion,  or  else  meeting  her  somewhere  on 
the  road. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  on  such  nights  when  even  the 
old  sighed  for  their  lost  youth,  and  when,  in  the  balmy 
dusk,  earth  whispered  her  heart-secret  to  man  and  iraid, 
the  return  to  the  hotel  should  be  late,  though  hardly  ;.ver 
so  late  that  there  was  not  some  couple  tarrying  in  a 
comer  of  the  veranda? 

Firm  friends,  if  nothing  more,  had  Noel  and  she  be- 
come, and  Esther's  receptive  mind  was  rapidly  assimi- 
lating new  outlocdcs  on  life. 

She  had  been  so  starved  for  knowledge  of  the  great 
outside  world,  of  which  she  longed  to  feci  herself  a 
part,  had  so  wearied  of  the  unaccountable  gloom  that  en- 
shrouded her  home. 

If  she  had  allowed  herself  to  realize  it,  she  would  have 
felt  this  gloom  to  be  gathering  thicker  than  ever,  but  in 
summer  at  least  she  could  escape  from  it,  she  said  to 
herself,  and  she  would. 

She  was  grateful  to  Noel  for  not  noticing  the  change  in 
her  father's    manner    toward  him.    From  the    day    of 


193 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


Noel's  arrival  and  of  Mr.  Sabine's  heart  attack,  the  latter 
had  ceased  to  show  any  of  his  old  interest  in  fossils.  If 
Noel  sought  him  on  the  veranda  or  in  the  office  to  display 
a  new  specimen,  he  was  nervously  polite,  but  invariably 
made  an  excuse  to  slip  oflF  as  soon  as  possible  to  stable 
or  garden,  so  that  Noel,  seeing  his  distress  and  never 
being  invited  into  the  sanctum  of  the  family  sitting-room, 
ceased  to  make  overtures. 

It  was  the  end  of  a  still,  gray  afternoon,  warm  with 
the  languor  of  coming  rain,  when  Esther,  freed  for  the 
time  from  household  tasks,  had  wandered  up  into  the 
sloping  fields  .behind  the  house,  to  gather  strawberries 
for  her  father's  supper.  The  snake-fences  of  the 
pasture  sheltered  in  their  angles  the  wild  woodland 
growth,  and  here,  on  the  edge  of  the  grasses,  the  little 
red  berries  showed  abundant.  After  half  filling  her  bas- 
ket, Esther  nestled  herself  in  a  comer  of  the  fence,  and 
gave  herself  up  to  a  contented  laziness.  There  before 
her  lay  all  her  little  world  outspread  as  on  a  map.  At 
one  end,  half  hidden  by  the  curve  of  the  wooded  hill,  the 
Bluff  House  and  the  French  Church,  then  the  thicker 
cluster  of  houses  around  the  post-office,  then  came  Dor- 
val's  trim  house  and  fields  adjoining  their  own,  and  be- 
yond that  a  few  cottages  straggled  to  the  white  English 
Church,  while  further  up  the  valley  lay  fields,  a  few  scat- 
tered houses  and  the  little  group  of  Indian  shanties  on  the 
river  bank.  Across  the  Basin  that  pink  cottage  in  the 
hollow  by  the  brook  was  the  home  of  Mrs.  LeRoy  and 
Jack. 

As  she  looked  down  on  the  familiar  land-marks,  her 
mind  disconnectedly  followed  the  various  trains  of 
thought  they  suggested.  She  idly  pondered  over  the 
mysteriously  sudden  fashion  in  which  Jack  LeRoy  had 
again  taken  himself  off.    Could  that  be  the  reason  of 

194 


MIDSUMMER 


Virginia's  changed  manner  and  Miss  Creighton's  worried 


Mr.  Dorval,  she  was  sure,  knew  the  secret  of  why  and 
where  he  had  gone,  though  he  had  only  laughed  pro- 
vokingly  and  talked  about  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  when 
she  questioned  him. 

Perhaps  he  might  have  told  her,  if  her  mother,  hear- 
ing that  laugh,  had  not  limped  out  on  the  veranda  and 
joined  the  group. 

"She  never  seems  to  like  my  talking  to  Mr.  Dorval. 
It's  always  as  though  she  were  afraid  of  what  I  would 
say,"  she  pondered.  Then:  "And  it's  even  worse  with 
Mr.  Noel — ^goodness  knows  why.  I  must  talk  to  some- 
body." 

She  heard  the  sound  of  soft  French  voices  as  two  girls 
from  the  kitchen  came  up  the  meadow  path  with  milking 
pails,  followed  shortly  by  Alphonse  with  a  yoke  on  his 
shoulders  for  the  bearing  home  of  the  milk. 

It  was  later  than  she  had  thought,  and  she  must  be 
getting  back  to  the  house.  She  reached  out  for  her 
basket,  but  checked  herself  to  watch  a  long,  slouching 
figure  in  well-worn  blue  serge  that  appeared  around  the 
bam  coming  up  the  hill  path.  It  was  Noel,  whom  she 
had  supposed  far  afield  in  some  of  his  happy  hunting- 
grounds.  A  thrill  of  nervous  pleasure  came  over  her  as 
she  wondered  how  he  had  tracked  her. 

"Where  are  you  oS  to  now  ?"  she  greeted  him. 

"No  further  than  here.  I  came  to  look  for  you,"  he 
said,  stretching  his  length  on  the  grass  beside  her  with 
an  air  of  achievement. 

"Who  told  you  I  was  here  ?" 

"No  one.  My  window  looks  uphill,  you  know,  and 
while  dressing  I  caught  sight  of  a  blue  speck  I  thought 


was  you. 


195 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Well,  never  call  yourself  near-sighted  ag^in." 

"There  are  such  things  as  spectacles,"  he  remarked 
placidly. 

"But  I  thought  you  were  off  for  all  day  in  Pierre 
Tessier's  whaler." 

"So  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be.  But  as  I  went  down 
to  the  wharf  this  morning — I  saw  you  in  the  dairy  but 
you  wouldn't  look  at  me — I  met  Tom  Tathem  and  Mr. 
Holbeach  going  for  a  bath.  It  seems  they  all  came 
down  last  night  to  the  Bluff  House.  I  spent  the  day 
with  them  on  Holbeach's  yacht.  It's  likely  to  be  my  last 
sail." 

"Your  last  isail?"  Esther  repeated  rather  helplessly, 
ignoring  the  rest  of  his  news.  She  felt  that  Noel  was 
staring  at  her  in  a  queer  fashion,  and  sat  very  still,  looking 
down  on  the  little  world  that  had  a  less  cheerful  air  than 
a  few  moments  ago. 

It  was  the  old  thing,  others  went  and  left  her  here, 
and  that  little  world  closed  in  around  her  with  prison 
walls. 

"Yes.  Tom  and  his  wife  are  leaving  in  to-morrow's 
mail-boat  and  I  am  going  with  them." 

How  stupid  in  him  to  watch  her  so  closely.  Surely, 
he  could  not  think  that  she  cared.  With  an  effort  she 
pulled  herself  together,  shoving  aside  the  blank  feeling 
until  later. 

"Why,  what  a  lot  you  will  have  to  do !  There  will  be 
all  your  fossils  to  pack !"  she  said  briskly.  A  sudden  bit 
of  pride  prevented  her  showing  any  more  interest  in  his 
doings. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  leave  them  here  until  I  come  back. 
You  wouldn't  mind  seeing  that  they  weren't  thrown 
away,  would  you?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  of  course  not,"  she  said,  making  a  little  move- 
196 


MIDSUMMER 


ment  to  rise.  She  thought  tiils  talk  of  a  return  was  only 
a  way  of  slurring  over  his  farewell,  and  it  irritated  her. 

"Please  give  me  a  little  more  time,"  he  pleaded.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  you're  always  in  a  hurry  nowadays. 
You  haven't  even  asked  where  I'm  going." 

All  at  once  Esther  felt  very  sorry  for  herself. 

"Why  should  I?"  she  said  with  a  touch  of  bitterness. 
"You  forget  that  I'm  so  used  to  people  coming  and  go- 
ing. T'":y  keep  on  saying  what  an  Arcadia  it  is  and 
how  they  could  be  content  here  forever.  But  all  the 
same,  they  go  back  to  the  big  world,  and  I — I  stay 
here." 

"You  won't  always,"  he  asserted  with  a  security  that 
she  took  for  carelessness,  and  braced  herself  against 
further  weakness  of  self-revelation. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "since  you  won't  condescend  to 
ask,  I'll  tell  you  that  Jack  LeRoy  and  I  are  going  forth 
into  the  wilderness  in  search  of  untold  gold  and  silver. 
You  mustn't  ask  me  any  more,  please;  it's  all  a  secret, 
only  I  didn't  care  to  go  without  telling  you  what  i  was 
about." 

The  emphasis  on  the  "you"  changed  Esther's  outlook 
again.  From  the  spruce  trees  behind  her,  a  robin  poured 
out  his  evening  hymn  and  her  heart  sang  with  him. 

"Oh,  then  that's  why  Jack  LeRoy  vanished  into  space, 
and  Mr.  Dorval  would  only  laugh  when  I  asked  where  he 
was,"  she  commented  sagely. 

"Yes,  Dorval  has  a  finger  in  the  pie  with  the  Tathems 
and  Mr.  Holbeach,  but  you  mustn't  let  him  know  that  I 
told  you  anything  about  it.  He  seems  to  be  a  great 
friend  of  yours,"  he  added,  with  a  curious  glance  at  her. 

Feeling  the  meaning  of  tone  and  glance,  she  answered 
lightly : 

"Yes,  but  he's  not  my  private  property!  He  plays 
197 


t» 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

chess  with  father  on  winter  evenings,  and  sometimes  he 
takes  my  mother  for  a  sleigh  drive,  and  sometimes  me  for 
a  sail,  while  he's  in  and  out  every  day.  We  all  miss  him 
when  he  goes  away." 

It  would  almost  have  seemed  natural  for  Noel  to  ask : 

"Will  you  miss  me?"  rnd  perhaps  he  was  going  to 
when  the  half-hour  before  supper  bell  clanged  out,  caus- 
ing a  diversion. 

"Gracious  I  There's  the  first  bell,  and  I  haven't  given 
out  the  fruit,"  Esther  cried,  jumping  up. 

But  Noel  stood  in  the  path  before  her,  making  no  sign 
of  moving.  "See  here,"  he  said,  "I'm  charged  by  Miss 
Holbeach  to  bring  you  down  to  the  Bluff  House  to-night 
after  supper.  The  Tathems  are  all  there  and  Hugh 
wants  them  to  have  a  farewell  beach  fire.  You'll  come, 
won't  you?" 

Why  did  he  peer  down  at  her  so  intently?  Esther  felt 
her  heart  beat  faster  as  she  answered,  "Yes,  I'll  come." 

"You  won't  fail  me  ?    Remember,  I  count  on  you." 

"Yes,"  was  all  she  said,  but  she  had  read  the  meaning 
in  his  eyes  and  knew  that  henceforth  they  belonged  to 
each  other. 

Side  by  side,  they  stroUeu  down  the  meadow  path, 
Esther,  at  least,  wondering  when  they  would  walk  to- 
gether again. 

As  they  rounded  the  bam  and  came  to  Mr.  Sabine's  be- 
loved plot  of  flower-beds,  they  found  that  worthy  hover- 
ing over  his  treasures  in  a  fluttering  state  of  distress. 

The  sight  of  the  couple  apparently  diverted  his  mind, 
and  he  stared  at  Noel  in  the  anxious  distrust  which 
seemed  to  g^ow  upon  him  whenever  the  latter  appeared. 

"Why,  daddy,  what's  the  matter?"  Esther  demanded, 
seeing  that  havoc  had  been  wrought. 

"Matter  I    Those  hens  of  your  mother's  again  I    What 
198 


MIDSUMMER 


chance  can  my  poor  annuals  have!  And  the  carnations 
were  doing  so  well!" 

They  were  a  tragic  sight  now,  drooping  in  the  midst 
of  that  dusty  turmoil  which  appears  to  be  the  henly  idea 
of  happiness. 

"Never  mind,  dad.  I'll  help  you  water  and  put  them 
in  again,  as  soon  as  tea's  over,"  Esther  said  with  an 
inward  pang,  at  thought  of  her  imperiled  evening  leisure. 

"And  I'll  help,"  Noel  said  va'orously. 

Esther  laughed.  "What  do  you  know  about  garden- 
ing?" she  asked. 

"Not  much,  I  allow,"  he  acknowledged. 

"I  think  it  would  be  better  for  only  you  and  me  to 
touch  them,  Esther,"  her  father  protested  jealously. 

"Very  well,  dad." 

"Remember  my  orders  from  Miss  Holbeach  to  bring 
you  there  this  evening,"  Noel  said,  still  lingering. 

Esther  cast  an  anxious  eye  over  the  extent  of  damaged 
beds.  The  hens  must  have  executed  a  regular  war- 
dance  across  them.  There  was  an  hour's  work  there  be- 
fore her. 

She  did  not  mean  to  fail  in  her  promise  to  Noel,  but 
she  was  still  wearing  the  crumpled  cotton  of  her  day's 
labors,  and  it  would  be  hard  work  to  get  through  in  time 
to  dress  and  go. 

"The  plants  must  all  be  set  out  to-night  or  they'll  die," 
Mr.  Sabine  quavered. 

"All  right,  dad.  We'll  do  them,"  she  responded 
bravely. 

"If  it  rains  soon,  they  won't  suffer  so  much,"  her  father 
said  with  a  glance  skywa'  1. 

Rain  would  throw  fresh  obstacles  in  her  way,  but  .she 
would  not  consider  that  possibility.  Resolutely  she  set 
about  her  tasks,  scarcely  taking  time  for  a  cup  of  tea. 
14  X99 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


It  was  little  use  trying  to  hurry  over  the  carnations  with 
her  father  pottering  lovingly  at  each  plant,  and  Noel's 
effort  to  help  so  evidently  worried  his  host,  that  he  left 
them  to  themselves. 

By  the  time  the  work  was  done,  in  the  gathering  dusk, 
and  Esther,  overheated,  with  muddy  hands,  came  up 
the  veranda  steps,  the  storm  had  broken  in  a  steady 
downpour  of  rain,  while  thunder  rolled  among  the 
hills. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  her  mother,  meeting  her 

on  the  stairs. 

"To  wash  first,  and  then  to  the  Bluff  House.  The 
Tathems  are  there,  and  Virginia  asked  Mr.  Noel  to 
bring  me  down." 

Esther  spoke  confidently,  though  she  dreaded  her 
mother's  answer.    It  was  decisive. 

"She  won't  expect  you  in  this  storm.  It's  after  nine 
now,  and  you're  not  even  dressed.  Mr.  Noel  is  on  the 
veranda.    I'll  tell  him  not  to  wait  for  you." 

Esther  had  never  yet  disregarded  an  explicitly  stated 
wish  of  her  mother's.  She  had  grown  up  under  a  calmly 
despotic  rule,  and,  as  yet,  had  not  come  to  the  point  of 
shaking  it  off. 

But  then,  never  before  had  she  wanted  so  much  to  do 
anything  as  to  take  that  last  walk  with  Noel.  She 
realized  that  her  future  happiness  hung  on  the  events  of 
the  next  few  hours,  and  she  did  not  mean  to  let  it  slip 
from  her  hold,  if  she  could  help  it. 

Grasping  the  situation,  she  was  stung  to  swift  action. 
"Thanks.  Don't  trouble.  I'll  tell  him  myself,"  she 
said,  and  without  giving  her  mother  time  to  pass  her, 
turned  and  sped  down  the  stairs  and  out  on  to  the  veranda 
where  Noel  was  lounging  in  a  habitant  armchair. 

Knowing  her  chance  might  be  short,  she  spc*e  tflkk 
200 


MIDSUMMER 


I 

i 


\ 


and  low:  "It's  no  use.  I  can't  come  with  you.  I 
haven't  had  time  to  dress,  and  mother  says  it's  too  late 
and  too  rainy." 

Here  she  caught  her  breath  in  a  half-gasp,  half-sob,  for 
an  amazing  thing  had  happened. 

Noel's  arm  was  around  her  and  he  was  drawing  her 
away  to  the  steps  at  the  side  of  the  house,  and  to  the 
warm,  wet,  outer  darkness. 

"Hush,  she's  coming,"  he  breathed  in  her  ear,  as  Mrs. 
Sabine's  step  sounded  in  the  hall.  "She  doesn't  mean  me 
to  get  any  chance  to-night  if  she  can  help  it — goodness 
knows  why.  Without  setting  up  to  be  an  Adonis  and  a 
Miles  Standish  rolled  into  one,  I'm  really  not  a  depraved 
character.  But  she  doesn't  matter  if  you're  game. 
Come,  let's  run  over  to  the  wagon-shed.  I  must  talk  to 
you  before  I  go,  and  no  one  can  bother  us  there." 

This  school-boy  flight  on  the  part  of  the  sedate  Noel, 
underlaid  as  it  was  with  earnest  purpose,  struck  Esther's 
fancy  as  altogether  delightful,  and  she  laughed  softly, 
feeling  all  at  once  young  and  gray. 

"In  the  rain?"  she  asked. 

His  answer  was  to  pull  a  large  silk  handkerchief  from 
his  pocket  and  spread  it  over  her  shoulders,  shawl- 
fashion,  then,  catching  her  hand,  he  drew  her  down  the 
steps  into  the  night. 

A  fringe  of  old  willows  sheltered  the  open  side  of  the 
wagon-shed  from  the  house,  and  the  long  branches 
waved  in  the  soft  south  wind,  blowing  up  from  far  West 
Indian  shores,  and  shook  the  rain  from  them  in  spray. 
From  the  lighted  sitting-room  windows  long  rays  of 
orange  light  shone  out,  gilding  the  wet  trees. 

Once  under  the  shelter  of  the  roof  it  was  dry,  and 
here  they  paused,  while  Esther  felt  herself  drawn  close 
against  the  serge  suit  with  Noel's  cheek  resting  on  her 
aoi 


MARCUS  HQTBFACH'S   DAUGHTER 

hair.    Losing   not    a    moment    in     setting     forth    hU 
cause  he  broke  inio  swift  speech:  ,«,«.♦ 

'''"rhad  meant  to  wait,  but  just  at  the  last  J  k-*  \««* 
make  sure  of  things  between  us  to-mght.    «  *"j° 
URoy's  comes  to  anything.  I  --y  "Jttfrt  ^S  ge 
months,  and  there  may  ''^J™"  ^jVoS^^^^^ 
tVirrmirh  iust  when  someone  mignt  oe  worryius  j 
S'fSeTched  ideas  about  it  being  your  du^  o  g- 
„,e  up.    If  anyone  should,  do  you  thmk  you  «jri<nu^ 
say  to  yourself,  or  to  whoever  puts  an  oar  in .   'W«^°* 
that  we  suit  efich  other,  and  we  mean  to  do  our  best  to 
make  eah  other's  lives  happy,  and  we'«  not  going  to 
^ther  our  heads  about  what  anyone  else  did  do  or  d.dn  t 
dol'-will  you  trust  me,  and  say  that? 

Amid  the  wondering  consciousness  *f  f  ^^'^'^j 
shadows  on  her  «fe  were  """^  f  °2'"*  ^V"  J^^J,, 
sometimes  thought,  and  that  Noel  knew  ^  th«r  ^st«K 
Esther's  supreme  thought  was  of  that  mutual  happme 

^''So'^itr:  was  no  fear  in  her  voice  as  she  protested: 
"Don't  you  think  you're  being  very  mysterious  ? 
"Not  a  bit  of  it.    At  any  rate,  mine  are  more  cheer- 
ful ^st^ries  than  your  mother's,  who  wanU  you  aU  to 
go  on  being  dreary  forever  over  7»^*"|  ^^^^^J 
likely  happened  before  you  cut  your  tf  *•  ,B"'«  ™ 
s  a  much  simpler  affair  than  being  miserable  if  on  y  one 
thinks  so  and  I  feel  it's  a  good  enough  mission  in  he 
io  see  to V  happiness.    Come  now.  aren't  you  going  to 
promise  me  ?" 
':^::;iJZSZ.  and  wait  m  l  come  for  you. 
"There's  not  much  chance  of  my  running  avvay  from 
here  ''she  said,  still  trifling  with  the  joyful  certainty. 
He  Jave  her  shoulders  a  little  protestmg  shake. 

202 


MIDSUMMER 


for  ■ 


"How  can  I  tell  who'll  come  along? 


When  I  come  back 
a  tramp?" 


will  you  follow  the  trail 

"Oh,  I'd  love  to  be  a  tramp  I" 

"With  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  and  there  was  nothing  very  co- 
herent to  be  said  for  awhile. 

After  a  bit  Esther  made  a  protest : 

"It's  disgraceful  for  us  to  be  perched  on  this  shaft  like 
roosting  chickens." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  It's  a  sensible  enough  fashion  to  imi- 
tate." 

"But  I'll  have  to  go  in." 

"There's  no  hurry." 

All  the  same,  he  had  to  let  her  go  presently,  and  mak- 
ing her  way  round  the  house  Esther  went  in  by  a  side 
door  and  crept  upstairs.  She  did  not  want  to  meet  her 
mother  again  to-night. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


OWL'S  NEST 


WHEN  Marcus  Holbeach  saw  the  last  of  Giles, 
who  was  replaced  at  the  camp  by  an  old 
colonel  from  Quebec,  the  sporting  compan- 
i(in  of  years,  he  entered  on  a  period  of 
peaceful  enjoyment  when  the  futilities  of  life  fell  into  the 
background,  and  he  savored  the  joys  of  primitive  man. 
The  wind's  munnur  in  the  pines,  the  river's  whisper 
amongst  boulders  and  tree  roots,  soothed  him  with  an  in- 
finite sense  of  well-being. 

The  silvery  flash  of  a  captured  salmon  awoke  all  his 
old  keen  instincts,  and  the  heart  of  youth  returned  to 
him. 

On  this  round  of  days  came  a  messenger  with  a  tele- 
gram from  Jack  LeRoy  at  Cobalt.  It  was  long  and  ran 
thus: 

Found  Moses  and  specim';ns.  Firm  on  chances,  but 
risk,  man  with  us  got  hold  specimens  and  gone  ahead. 
If  Mr.  Noel  coming,  bett'jr  hustle.  Meet  me  Cheval 
Blanc,  St.  Maudez. 

Holbeacb  looked  at  the  flimsy  paper  more  than  once, 
as  though  It  implied  a  good  deal  to  him.  In  reality, 
though  he  would  be  pleased  if  Jack  URoy's  air-castle 
showed  some  prospect  of  becoming  brick  and  mortar, 
he  would  be  better  pleased  still  if  its  construction  were 
long  and  strenuous  enough  to  keep  him  away  from  Lanse 
204 


OWL'S    NEST 


Louise  for  many  a  day.  Since  a  brief  note  from  Giles 
had  apprised  him  of  that  worthy's  defeat,  all  his  hopes 
for  Virginia,  and  through  her  for  himself,  were  set  on 
Hugh  Tathem. 

Then  came  a  happy  thought.  He  would  send  a  mes- 
senger across  country  to  the  Tathems'  camp  on  the  York, 
with  the  telegram. 

Tom  and  his  wife  were,  he  knew,  about  due  to  come 
down  on  their  return.  It  was  likely  that  they  would 
stretch  a  point  to  go  in  the  same  boat  as  Noel,  and  he 
would  ask  them  to  stay  at  the  Bluff  House,  and  say  that 
he  had  room  for  Hugh  too,  if  he  wished  to  come.  A 
man  needs  to  be  deeply  in  love,  to  leave  a  salmon  stream 
in  the  height  of  the  season.  Still,  Hugh  was  young  and 
had  many  such  seasons  in  prospect.  With  this  thought 
the  shadow  returned  and  Marcus  Holbeach  gave  a  sigh 
to  the  woods  and  streams  he  had  loved  so  well,  that 
others  would  love  when  his  day  was  done. 

And  so  came  about  that  gathering  at  the  Bluff  House, 
all  the  Tathems  coming  down,  for  Cecily  had  gone  back 
as  far  as  her  beloved  Metis  in  the  yacht,  and  there  were 
only  the  three  on  the  river. 

The  house  was,  as  usual,  dainty  and  cheerful,  'with  its 
open  windows  and  broad  veranda.  Miss  Creignton  was, 
as  usual,  quietly  thoughtful  for  everyone's  wants. 

"It  always  seems  the  cozie.st  house  I  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Tom  to  her  husband  in  their  room,  dressing  for  dinner, 
"but  there's  something  different  this  time.  I  wonder  if  it's 
just  my  fancy,  or  if  there's  really  anything  wrong  with 
Virginia.    She  seems  so  changed." 

"My  dear,  ever  since  I've  known  you,  I've  been  only 
able  to  wonder  at  the  exuberance  of  that  fancy  of  yours. 
Wh»,  I  nev-r  saw  the  girl   more   lively.    She's    quite 
y/oke  up  o.i  of  her  dreamy  way," 
205 


MARCUS   HOLBF.ACH'S   DAUGHTER 


•You  are  a  dear  old  stupid,  Tom,"  was  his  wife's  com- 

It  was  true  enough  that  Virfjinia,  greeting  ner  guests 
that  afternoon,  laughed  and  talked  more  than  usual,  and 
wearing  her  smartest  clothes,  seemed  to  have  come  into 
sharper  fociis  in  the  foreground  than  had  the  quiet  girl 
of  a  few  weeks  earlier. 

It  took  Mr  .  Tom's  innate  motherliness  to  notice  the 
dark  circUs  under  her  eyes  telling  of  restless  nights,  the 
distressed  little  curl  of  her  upper  lip  when  the  resolute 
smile  faltered  for  a  moment.  Then,  to  a  keen  observer, 
Miss  Creighton'S  wistful  face  had  a  pinched  look  of 
anxiety,  like  a  faithful  dog's  watching  a  grief  it  dimly  un- 
derstands, and  tries  to  share. 

If  Holbeach  noted  any  change  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  Blufif  House  he  gave  no  sign. 

The  morning  after  their  arrival  happened  to  he  r- 
ginia's  birthday,  a  date  her  father  never  forgot.  The 
post  brought  her  a  string  of  pearls  from  a  Montreal 
shop,  and  she  opened  the  package  at  breakfast  before  Hol- 
beach and  the  others.  He  watched  her  careless  glance  at 
the  shimmering  string,  and  saw  that  there  was  no  girl- 
ish pleasure  in  it,  that  she  made  no  ..  stinctive  motion  to 
clasp  the  bauble  on  her  neck,  and  that  presently  she 
moved  away,  leaving  it  on  the  table,  whence  Miss  Creigh- 
ton  gathered  it  up. 

Her  words  of  thanks  had  been  graceful,  but  the  hand 
that  he  took  in  his  fell  limp  and  irresponsive  from  his 
grasp. 

Presently,  he  tried  another  experiment.    The  others 

scattering,  he  called  to  her  to  come  for  a  stroll  down  to 

the  boat-house,  but  she  made  a  hasty  excuse,  so  unlike 

her  former  gentle  alacrity  to  please. 

Then  he  knew  that  somehow  or  other  she  had  got  at 

206 


OWL'S   NEST 


the  tnith,  and  was  suffering  from  it,  and  in  the  chill  that 
crept  around  his  heart  he  tasted  anew  the  bitterness  of 
his  dead  sin. 

If  this  were  a  piece  of  Giles'  work,  he  vowed  to  himself 
that  worthy  should  pay  for  it,  though  no  retributive 
justice  could  mend  what  was  forever  broken. 

Father,  governess,  and  friend,  sympathetic  as  they 
were,  seemed  powerless  to  help.  It  was  llu^h  Tathcm, 
who  boldly  took  charge  of  the  situation — IIuKh,  whom 
this  sight  of  Virg^inia  in  her  own  home  had  aroused  into 
an  idiotic  frenzy  of  devotion. 

On  that  long  summer  day's  sail  before  the  party  broke 
up,  when  Dorval  had  joined  them,  Holbeach  found  him- 
self dropping  absent-mindedly  out  of  the  discussion  over 
Jpck  LeRoy's  telegram,  to  watch  Hugh's  complete 
monopoly  of  Virginia.  The  boy  had  arranged  a  snug 
nest  of  cushions  for  her  well  forward  from  the  larger 
group,  and  settled  himself  by  her  side. 

If  she  were  in  a  silent  mood,  he  patiently  waited  for 
her  to  speak ;  if  she  condescended  to  any  show  of  interest 
in  his  fishing  tales,  he  frisked  as  openly  as  a  little  dog 
noticed  by  its  master.  Watching  them  thus,  a  new  hope 
dawned  on  Holbeach,  a  hope  of  which  he  caught  a  re- 
flection in  Mrs.  Tom's  kindly  eyes. 

It  was  this  same  fishing  talk  that  gave  Holbeach  his 
cue. 

The  Tathems  and  Noel  had  been  seen  off  in  the  Cha- 
teauguay,  and  that  afternoon  Hugh  had  beguiled  Vir- 
ginia on  a  canoe  expedition  up  the  Southeast  from 
which  they  had  only  returned  when  in  the  late  dusk 
Holbeach  sat  smoking  his  after-dinner  pipe  on  the  ve- 
randa. 

He  watched  the  two  young  figures  coming  up  the  path, 
noting  that  Virginia's  step  was  more  alert,  and  yes,  there 


207 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


was  the  soft  little  laugh  that  he  had  not  heard  since  he 
came  down  from  the  camp.  Certainly,  Hugh  must  be 
kept  near  at  hand,  at  all  costs. 

Then  came  the  brilliant  idea  which  he  proceeded  to 
put  into  shape. 

"Come  and  sit  here  by  me,  Virginia,"  he  said,  holding 
out  his  hand  as  they  climbed  the  steps  and  the  girl  paused 
near  him.  She  yielded,  and  though  the  hand  he  took  was 
irresponsive,  it  did  not  shrink  from  his  touch. 

There  had  been  a  certain  air  of  loneliness  in  the  soli- 
tary figure  in  the  dusk  that  brought  a  novel  sense  of 
compunction  to  Virginia,  though  comprehension  was  still 
far  off,  and  was  to  come  later,  mingled  with  bitter  tears 
of  regret.  Hugh  immediately  plumped  down  on  the 
steps  where  he  could  get  as  good  a  view  as  possible  of 
his  divinity.  Holbeach  thought  it  prudent  to  bring  him 
in  as  a  reinforcement. 

"Only  think,  Hugh,  we've  been  forgetting  all  about 
Virginia's  week.  We  must  see  to  it  at  once  before  the 
river  gets  any  lower." 

Now  Hugh,  as  well  as  all  other  Bluff  House  habitues, 
knew  Virginia's  week  as  an  old-established  river  institu- 
tion. 

From  the  time  when  she  could  just  grasp  a  light  trout- 
rod,  Miss  Creighton  and  she  had  spent  a  week  every  sum- 
mer at  Owl's  Nest  Camp,  and  great  was  the  pride  of 
guides  and  sportsmen  when  the  slim,  quiet  child  showed 
herself  a  bom  adept  at  the  craft. 

But  the  joyous  readiness  with  which  Virginia  had  al- 
ways hailed  the  prospect  was  lacking.    A  suddon  mem- 
ory of  the  last  day's  fishing  with  Jack  LeRoy  c'.oked  her 
as  she  murmured: 
"Oh,  perhaps  it's  hardly  worth  while  now." 
She  might  have  saved  herself  the  effort  of  the  words, 
208 


OWL'S   NEST 


for  Hugh  had  seizr  i  on  'J<e  pbn  as  a  kitten  seizes  on  a 
ball,  patting  it  and   ossing-  iv  to  ■•id  fro. 

He  calmly  includt  .1  Vumself  in  'be  scheme,  wanting  them 
to  come  across  to  his  camp  o^.  the  York,  where  he  avowed 
the  loneliness  would  be  appalling. 

Failing  this,  he  jumped  readily  at  Holbeach's  bidding 
to  Owl's  Nest.  The  fishing  would  be  prime  after  last 
night's  rain,  and  no  time  should  be  lost  in  starting.  It 
was  positively  wicked  to  think  of  thirty-pound  fish  pic- 
nicking round  the  place  to-day  with  no  one  save  old  Col- 
onel Marceau  to  throw  a  fly  to  them.  Didn't  Mr.  Hol- 
beach  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  start  in  the  morn- 
ing? Did  Virginia  think  that  she  and  Miss  Creighton 
could  be  ready? 

In  spite  of  the  new  cloud  overshadowing  Virginia's 
horizon,  and  dimming  her  earlier  faiths  and  affections, 
old  instincts  awoke  at  his  picture  of  the  friendless  salmon. 
It  had  become  part  of  her  creed  that  all  occupations 
should  be  dropped,  all  engagements  canceled,  when  it 
came  to  the  serious  business  of  fishing.  So  now,  while 
Hugh  rattled  on,  she  was  mentally  packing  her  bag,  and 
when  he  paused,  spoke  rapidly: 

"I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't.  Shall  I  run  and  see 
what  Miss  Creighton  thinks  of  It,  father  ?" 

The  last  word  had  its  old  gentle  intonation,  and  a  mist 
came  before  Marcus  Holbeach's  vision  at  the  sound. 

"Yes,  do,  child,"  he  made  answer,  "and  ask  her  if  she 
can  give  us  an  early  breakfast,  and  I'll  order  the  buck- 
board  at  half-past  six." 

She  went,  and  on  the  ensuing  silence  there  came  be- 
tween the  youth  and  the  older  man  a  few  words  of  wistful 
hope  and  generous  encouragement,  words  that  sent  the 
boy  out  into  the  soft  darkness  to  work  off  his  joyously 
dazed  excitement  in  a  long  tramp. 


209 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


The  early  move  was  made,  and  the  next  afternoon  saw 
Miss  Creighton  established  in  a  corner  of  the  Owl's  Nest 
veranda,  looking  as  though  it  had  been  her  home  for 

^The  always  kept  a  special  kind  of  coarse  lace-work  on 
hand  as  suitable  for  camp  life  and  her  position  as  chape- 
ron But.  not  being  a  woman  who  loved  the  monotony 
of  fa-y-work,  as  soon  as  the  fishermen  were  well  out  of 
the  way,  she  would  don  thick  shoes  and  gloves  and  set 
out  to  scramble  happily  through  densest  brushwood,  or 
among  the  riverside  boulders  in  search  of  some  desired 
flower  or  fern.  ,At  such  times,  though  her  appearance 
was  witchlike,  her  heart  and  mind  were  twenty-five  and 
not  a  day  older.  It  is  only  in  solitude  that  middle-age  can 
venture  to  be  as  young  as  it  feels,  without  fear  of  imper- 

''^And^then    came    a    season    which    Hugh    Tathem 
never  in  the  after  years  of  a  prosperous  life  forgot, 
for  it  enshrined  the  brief  idyl  of  his  youth.    All  day  he 
was  never  far  from  Virginia's  side.    In  the  pearly  gray 
of  early  morning,  or  in  the  evening  primrose  stillness, 
they  fished  in  some  golden-brown  or  deep-green  pool. 
Their  mid-day  meal  was  eaten  on  a  flat  rock  or  gravel 
reach  and  after  dinner,  when  the  older  men  smoked  on 
the  veranda,  they  too  would  heap  a  glorious  fire  of  drift- 
wood and  sit  between  its  light  and  the  encompassing 
darkness  of  forest  and  river.    Virginia  was  a  fire-wor- 
shipper there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  and  while  she  sat 
dreaming,  lulled  by  the  ceaseless  sound  of  the  river,  the 
snapo=ng  of  burning  twigs.  Hugh  watched  the  delicately 
outlined  face  all  aglow  with  the  flickering  light. 

The  fine  instinct  of  his  devotion  made  him  conscious 
of  the  change  that  had  come  over  her.  All  was  not  well 
with  her,  he  knew,  but  this  knowledge  only  enforced  h.s 

aio 


OWL'S   NEST 


conviction  that  his  mission  in  life  was  to  stand  henceforth 
between  her  and  all  harm.  . 

And  Virginia?  Her  hurt  had  not  been  slight  and  it 
was  no  shallowness  of  nature  that  caused  her  to  brighten 
in  the  warming  atmosphere  of  the  boy's  devotion. 

Her  first  glimpse  of  sorrow  and  evil  had  come  very 
near  home,  and  never  again  could  her  relations  with  her 
father  be  of  the  same  unquestioning  sort ;  though  give 
her  time,  and  something  better  might  take  their  place. 
She  was  still  sore  from  this  scarcely  comprehended  blow 
dealt  her  by  Giles.  She  had  breathed  no  word  of  her 
new  knowledge  to  anyone  save  Mrs.  URoy,  and  it  was  a 
nervous  fear  of  expressed  sympathy  that  caused  her  to 
shrink  from  Miss  Creighton's  wistful  glances,  while  she 
felt  that  any  outspoken  speech  between  herself  and  her 
father  would  as  yet  be  intolerable. 

Though  inexperienced,  she  had  quick  intuitions,  and  at 
a  time  of  less  self-absorption  she  would  have  guessed  the 
meaning  of  Hugh's  ministrations,  and  done  her  be.t  to 
save  him  from  further  pain.  If  Esther's  companionship 
had  been  available,  she  might  have  found  comfort  in  it. 
As  it  was,  she  shrank  from  all  those  who  had  made  her 
world,  for  even  Dorval's  kind  eyes  had  in  them  that 
comprehension  that  hurt  her.  Hugh  alone  had  nothing 
to  do  with  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things,  and  she  used 
him  as  one  might  use  laudanum  to  still  a  raging  tooth- 
ache. 

The  two  had  been  fishing  late  in  the  dusk  of  an  over- 
cast evening,  and  a  fine  salmon  lay  in  the  bottom  of 
the  canoe  as  proof  of  their  success.  Virginia  would 
have  stayed  at  the  pool  till  midnight  if  Hugh,  reck- 
less enough  for  himself,  had  not  been  prudent  for 
her. 
"See  here,"  he  protested,  "we'.e  a  bit  of  a  way  from 

211 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

camp  you  knov.-,  and  I  w?  it  to  get  down  while  we  can 
see  the  rocks  in  the  stream.." 

"Oh,  I  could  find  every  rock  in  the  dark,"  Virginia 
asserted,  with  a  dexterous  cast  of  her  line. 

"And  snags  and  roots?  Can  you  find  them,  too,  whei; 
you  can't  see  the  ripples?"  he  scoflFed.  "Come  now,  be 
reasonable  and  put  up  your  line.  If  we  stay  too  late, 
your  father  may  stop  our  going  out  to-morrow  night." 

The  argument  was  effectual,  and  Virginia  reluctantly 
abandoned  her  fishing. 

Hugh  was  a  bit  uneasy  for  he  knew  that  he  should  have 
tiken  one  of  the  men  with  him  to  help  steer  the  canoe 
down,  but  the  temptation  to  have  Virginia  all  to  himself 
had  been  irresistible,  and  Holbeach  had  not  seen  their 
start. 

Virginia  was  skilled  in  the  use  of  the  paddle,  but  she 
had  not  the  strength  of  arm  to  hold  back  the  canoe  with 
a  pole,  or  to  turn  it  sharply  against  the  onward  rush  of 
the  stream. 

IIo-.v  quickly  the  shadows  gathered,  spreading  out  from 
the  trees  that  crowded  each  other  on  the  banks!  They 
were  both  experienced  enough  to  know  their  peril  as  they 
peered  ahead  over  the  gray  line  of  water  for  rock  or 
sunken  logs.  Twice  they  had  narrowly  grazed  such  dan- 
gers, turned  aside  by  Hugh's  desperate  effort. 

"The  next  turn  shows  us  Owl's  Nest  lights,"  he  called 
encouragingly.  But  just  as  he  spoke  came  a  craoh  and 
rending  tear,  and  Hugh,  knowing  what  was  corning, 
dropped  his  paddle  and  made  a  grab  at  Virginia,  so  that 
the  two  went  into  the  water  together. 

If  the  current  had  fairly  caught  then-.,  their  chances 

would  have  been  slight,  but  the  same  great  uprooted  pine 

root  that  had  been  their  destruction  was  their  means  of 

safety.    Caught  against  it,  Hugh  was  aole  to  draw  Vir- 

212 


^  Is 

al 

I 


"God  knows   I    want  nothing   more   than  to  tukc  care  of  you 
alv  ays.' " 


■: 


OWL'S   NEST 


ginia  along  its  trunk  toward  the  not  distant  bank,  until 
they  both  had  a  firm  grip  on  over-hanging  branches,  and 
could  pull  themselves  ashore. 

Small  comfort  was  there  though,  for  that  bank  was 
little  short  of  a  rocky  crag,  and  it  took  a  desperate  scram- 
ble, clinging  to  bushes  and  roots,  before  they  could  reach 
■d  mossy  ledge  level  enough  for  them  to  drop  down  pant- 
ing and  exhausted.  Even  then,  Hugh  still  kept  a  grasp 
on  Virginia  as  though  to  prevent  her  slipping  down. 

"Oh,  Hugh,  our  rods,  and  our  fly-books,  and  the  fish — 
such  a  splendid  fish  too!"  was  Virginia's  first  lament. 

"And  our  precious  bones,  and  our  precious  lives!"  he 
tried  to  jest  then,  his  excitement  finding  vent :  "Oh,  Vir- 
ginia, don't  you  see  that  my  carelessness  has  nearly  been 
your  death  ?  And  here  you  are  dripping  wet,  and  with 
the  muskrat  brook  to  cross  and  all  that  spruce-wood  to 
wriggle  through  before  we  reach  the  camp." 

The  tonic  force  of  danger  had  roused  her  and  she 
laughed  out  at  the  tragedy  in  his  voice. 

"V\'ell,  it's  no  good  crying  over  it !  We  can't  get  any 
wetter  in  the  brook  and  we're  not  likely  to  be  cold  by  the 
time  we've  scrambled  through  those  spruce  trees." 

He  was  silent  and  all  at  once  a  breath  of  his  earnest- 
ness seemed  to  reach  her. 

"Why,  Hugh  I"  she  said,  gently,  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
"You  can't  really  think  anyone  will  blame  you.  They  all 
l.now  how  good  you  are  to  me  and  what  care  you  al- 
ways take  of  me " 

Her  words  let  loose  the  passion  in  the  boy's  heart. 

"God  knows  I  want  nothing  more  than  to  take  care 
of  you  always.  Don't  you  think  you  could  let  me?  Your 
father  would  like  it " 

All  at  once  the  girl's  heart  became  as  stone. 

So  her  father  was  already  seeking  another  means  ef 
213 


! 


It'll  always  be  the  same,"  sb 


m 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

getting  rid  of  her.  How  blind  she  had  been  not  to  u< 
derstand  But  Hugh,  poor  Hugh,  he.  at  least,  want« 
Jier.  What  a  p.ty  she  must  hurt  him  by  denyinir  hii 
what  he  craved  for.  For  she  could  give  him  nothing,  b. 
longmg  altogether  to  another. 

She  drew  away  from  his  grasp.  "Oh,  Hugh,  I'm  s 
sorry  so  sorry!"  she  breathed  softly.  I„  the  dusk  h 
saw  her  eyes  as  they  were  a  pitying  Madonna's. 

Cant  you,  can't  you,  really?    I'd  wait  for  ages,  unt 
you  could  give  me  some  hope,"  he  urged  desperately. 

She  shook  her  head,  so  that  the  drops  trickled  from  he 
dank  locks  over  her  shoulders. 

"No,  it's  no  use  to  wait, 
decided. 

The  boy's  face  was  haggard,  and  his  voice  hoarse 
though  his  words  were  manful. 

"Well,  you  can't  prevent  my  waiting  and  trying  agair 
''"ol/^":.    }^''"  =""  ^  ^""^nds?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

Yes-  she  hesitated,  "but  I'm  afraid  it's  all  spoiled, 
as  everything  seems  to  be  nowadays." 

She  gave  a  little  shiver  and  her  face  looked  wan  in  the 
dim  light. 

Hugh  was  smitten  with  swift  remorse. 

"What  a  brute  I  am  to  be  keeping  you  here  in  your  wet 
things— I  don't  wonder  you  think  me  a  useless  fool  " 

But  I  don't,  Hugh."  She  protested  gently.  "You 
know  I  like  you  awfully." 

"What  good's  that!"  he  said  roughly,  then  with  a  sud- 
den thought:  "If  there  happened  to  be  anyone  else,  I 
think  you  re  bound  to  tell  me." 

The  dusk  did  not  hide  the  warm  glow  in  her  face  as 
she  confronted  him  silently. 

"So  there  is  someone!"  he  said  slowly  in  a  sort  of  dull 
despair. 


214 


-U_ 


OWL'S   NEST 


The  realization  of  how  her  secret  betrothal  might  look 
to  others  dawned  on  Virginia,  but  she  did  not  flinch. 

"Well,  and  if  there  is !"  she  pant'*d. 

The  sight  of  he'  distress  awoke  his  chivalry. 

"Never  mind,  Virj^nia.  I  won't  bother  you  any  more 
just  now.  Only  remember,  next  year  I'll  ask  just  the 
same  thing  over  again." 

He  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying  for  his  heart 
was  as  heavy  as  lead. 

"Come  now,"  he  went  on,  "we've  got  to  get  home  be- 
fore the  light  fails  altogether.  Give  me  your  hand,  and 
we'll  hurry  on." 

From  thenceforth  matters  were  strictly  business-like 
and  they  had  enough  to  do  to  mind  their  footing  on  the 
rough  ground  in  the  waning  light. 

Over  one  hill,  down  into  a  valley  and  then  up  the 
steep  slope  of  the  Owl's  Nest,  they  made  their  way 
through  thick  brushwood  and  among  boulders  and 
swamps. 

A  disreputable,  disi.eveled  pair  with  wet,  muddy  gar- 
ments, faces  smeared  with  slime  and  with  clammy  hair, 
they  appeared  in  the  camp  sitting-room. 

Fortunately,  they  had  not  been  missed,  so  their  three 
elders  were  intent  on  a  tranquil  game  of  bridge.  While 
Hugh  explained  matters.  Miss  Creighton  dropped  her 
cards,  and  hurried  Virginia  oflf  for  tender  ministrations. 

When  she  was  wrapped  in  a  warm  dressing-gown,  and 
Miss  Creighton  had  shaken  out  and  wiped  the  damp 
masses  of  her  hair,  Virginia's  stoicism  gave  way,  and 
with  her  head  on  the  kind  little  woman's  shoulder,  she 
sobbed  her  heart  out.  Even  then,  no  confidences  were 
offered  or  demanded,  but  the  tired  girl  was  soothed  and 
comforted  by  the  contact  with  that  faithful  heart  that 
gave  so  much  and  asked  so  little  in  return. 


18 


21S 


CHAPTER   XXII 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

NEXT  morning,  while  Virginia  was  still  sleep* 
■ng  off  the  night's  fatigue,  Hugh  Tathem 
started  by  a  forest  trail  across  country  for 

hi.  ^-  f  u  "'*'"  ''^'"P  °"  '''*  Y°'''''  there  to  wreak 

h.s  gnefs  on  the  salmon.  It  was  a  glorious  July  day 
w.th  a  cnsp  w.«!  rioting  over  the  forested  hills  in  from 
the  great  outt.   spaces  of  the  Gulf 

The  fishermen  had  gone  off  for  the  whole  day    and 
M.SS  Creighton  had  plunged  into  the  woods  with  her 

Owl's' N^r  '^^^7^,^''?'"'-  i"  solitary  possession  of 
Owls  Nest^  Solitude  suited  her  best  just  now,  after 
the  proof  she  had  received  of  the  perils  of  friendship. 

btiff  and  tired  from  yesterday's  chill  and  scramble 
she  was  glad  to  lie  in  a  hammock-chair  on  the  veranda, 
istemng  to  the  harmony  of  the  wind  through  miles  of 
tree-tops,  toning  in  with  the  river's  deeper  voice  The 
wreck  of  the  canoe,  their  rods,  and  even  the  fish  had 
been  recovered  that  morning  by  the  men,  but  no  one  could 
give  her  back  yesterday's  delight  in  river  and  camp. 

1  he  glamour  was  gone  from  it  all  and  she  was  wonder- 
ing how  she  could  most  naturally  ask  her  father  to  let  her 
return  with  Miss  Creighton  to-morrow  to  the  Bluff 
House.  After  all,  the  week  for  which  they  had  come  was 
nearly  up  and  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  wait  for  Hol- 
beach  to  mention  the  subject.  She  dreaded  the  end  of  the 
day  and  the  fishermen's  return,  for  Hugh's  words,  "Your 
Hi 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER 


father  would  like  it,"  stayed  in  her  mind,  and  she  had  a 
guilty  sense  of  having  a  second  time  disappointed  him. 
He  had  never,  save  casually,  mentioned  Giles'  departure 
to  her,  but  she  had  a  prevision  that  he  would  not  let 
Hugh's  reverse  pass  in  that  fashion,  and  she  was  right. 

Holbeach's  greeting  to  his  daughter  was  even  more 
kindly  gentle  than  usual.  The  fishermen  had  had  the 
best  day's  sport  of  the  season,  and  when  after  dinner  he 
said:  "Feel  up  to  coming  down  to  inspect  the  day's 
spoils,  little  girl?"  an  instinct  of  pride  saved  her  from 
the  cowardice  of  an  excuse. 

The  five  silver-shining  fish,  ranging  from  twelve  to 
twenty-five  pounds  in  weight,  were  laid  out  on  spruce 
boughs  at  the  door  of  the  ice-house,  dug  out  in  the  bank. 

The  guides  sat  smoking  nearby  and  Virginia  had  to 
discuss  the  weight  and  death  struggle  of  each  fish  before 
she  was  free  to  go  to  the  river  bank  and  take  her  usual 
perch  on  a  rocky  ledge  running  out  into  the  stream. 

Holbeach  took  possession  of  the  log  that  had  been 
Hugh's  seat.  Above  the  tree  tops  a  saffron  sky  glowed, 
and  between  the  bronze-green  of  the  banks  the  river 
caught  its  light  and  flowed  a  stream  of  gold.  Holbeach 
drew  at  his  pipe,  settled  himself  more  comfortably  on  his 
log,  and  then  with  his  eyes  on  the  girl's  profile,  dusky 
against  the  shining  water,  he  spoke  with  careful  lightness : 

"Well,  and  so  you're  sending  oflf  all  my  men,  one  after 
the  other.  It's  lucky  Colonel  Marceau  is  proof  against 
you." 

The  kindliness  of  the  words  made  an  answer  harder 
to  give.  Virginia  tried  to  speak,  but  could  get  at  no 
appropriate  answer,  so  was  silent. 

"I  had  hoped  that  you  and  Hugh  Tathem  might  have 
suited  each  other,"  he  added  more  seriously,  but  still  with 
no  touch  of  blame. 


217 


-    MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

voice  to  say.     Her  tone  was  humble  and  yet  it  could  noi 

^u'nd've^irr  ''*°  °'  '-  """"'^^"^  «-  0°  -"« 

Then   Holbeach   for  the  first  time  took  c»iin»  .„ 

s^^aMo  his  child  from  something  beio^fheTuXe  S 

me,  Virg  n.a.      daresay  I  sometimes  seemed  careless  but 
the  one  last  thing  that  matter,  to  me  now  is  to  pre'ven 
your  l,fe   from  being  spoiled  as    mine    waJ-as    vour 
mother's  was."  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  a  vote  hafhi 
daughter  had  never  before  beard 

The  sound  of  her  mother's  name  on  his  lips  sent  a 
wonderful  new  thrill  of  awe,  mingled  with  £de"  ess 
over  l.er,  submerging  all  that  rec/nt  unhapp^enro; 

oth;tt::e;°:„s^'j^^'''  ^'^^^'-  -  ->  -'h. 

Virgmia  bent  down  from  her  perch  and  slim«.H  h-r 
hand  into  the  one  that  closed  over"^  firmlj        '"*'  '"' 

happy  ;sfam:-"  '''  "''  ""'  '^  ""'^  «"P'  "^''»  -"^ 
She  would  have  given  much  to  express  more  plainly 
her  yearnmg  sympathy  with  that  brief  glimpse  of  se"f 
revelation,  with  that  uncomprehended  old  sorrow    bu 
perhaps  he  understood.     Marcus  Holbeach  had  all  his  life 
been  quick  to  understand  women. 

"I  daresay  you  are,  for  the  present,"  he  agreed  "but 
then  you'll  need  someone  to  take  care  of  youthen  I'm 

So  placid  were  his  words  that  their  real  meaning 
passed  her  by.  and  she  thought  him  only  speaking"  w! 
autumnal  return  to  England.  t'""'^  oi  ms 

2l8 


FATHER  AND   DAUGHTER 


"But  there's  Miss  Creighton— and  Mr.  Dorval  always 
looks  after  us,  you  know." 

A  bewildering  new  possibility  Mashed  across  Hol- 
bcach's  mental  vision.  After  all,  Uorva!  was  an  active, 
good-looking  man  of  little  over  forty,  and  it  would  not 
be  so  strange  if  Virginia  had  taken  a  girlish  fancy  to 
him.  If  he  had  paused  to  think  he  niiglil  not  have  put 
the  idea  into  words.    As  it  was,  he  spoke  out : 

"Well,  but,  child— surely  it  isn't  Dorval  you  want  to 
marry  ?" 

The  strain  on  Virginia's  feelings  broke  in  a  laugh. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  said  lightly.  "He's  a  dear,  but 
he  always  seems  a  sort  of  uncle,  you  know." 

"Of  course,"  her  father  agreed,  realizing  with  the  in- 
evitable pang  of  middle  age,  her  different  standpoint. 
Knowing  and  guessing  what  he  did  of  his  friend's  life 
and  its  hidden  motives,  the  last  thing  he  would  have  de- 
sired for  his  daughter  would  have  been  an  attraction  to 
Dorval,  and  yet  it  gave  him  an  unpleasant  twinge  to  hear 
him  set  aside  as  past  all  the  possibilities  of  romance. 

A  silence  fell  on  them  while  the  shadows  seemed  to 
reach  out  from  either  bank  to  grasp  hands  across  the 
flowing  water.  From  the  woods  sounded  a  whip-poor- 
will's  long-drawn,  melancholy  note.  In  that  silence  Hol- 
beach  was  realizing  the  futility  of  all  his  schemes  for 
preventing  the  weaknesses  and  errors  of  his  youth  from 
bearing  their  inevitable  fruit  in  his  later  years.  Try  as 
he  might,  he  could  see  no  way  in  which  his  only  child 
might  stand  between  him  and  the  coming  loneliness. 
Well,  after  all,  it  might  not  be  for  long.  In  any  case, 
the  girl's  happiness  mu.st  count  first,  even  if  it  were  a 
matter  of  the  world  well  lost.  He  would  fight  no  longer, 
but  would  acknowledge,  at  least  to  himself,  where  her 
best  chance  of  content  lay.  Meanwhile  Virginia's  thoughts 
■9 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

had  flown  off  to  the  northern  wilderness,  where  she  pic- 
tured a  camp-fire  lighting  a  certain  familiar  face.    She 

rrt^etr'tt  itf  ^"''^  "^  '"  ^^'"^'^  ^^  ^'^  ^ 

tell  ^t  ttl''  ''  """'^  '°  "•"•    °"  '*■*  ''^y  -hen  you 
tell   me    that   you    want    to    marry   a    man    whom    I 

know  to  be  a  good-hearted,  honest  fellow,  no  m^te 

"Oh  father,  you're  good!"  she  murmured  in  a  tremor. 

As  the  thought  of  Jack  LeRoy's  last  evening  on  the 

winH     TuJTf"  '""'"  ^''^  *°  h^^'  ^''^  <=°"'d  not  but 

Teamed  .ih,'!:  ""'  """''"^  °^  '*-  »<^-  I'  hardly 
seemed  possible  and  yet,  she  was  sure  his  words  held  a 
more  definite  pledge  than  appeared  on  the  surface 

^oSln   r  LI^'V''^  "^^^  P'""^'  ^""^  "°*  the  river's 
golden  streak  had  narrowed  into  a  silver  line  between  the 
encroaching  shadows.     When  Holbeach  spoke  agl  i! 
was  in  a  more  everyday  fashion. 
fhi'T*'.!''  ^  ""V"'"  """'"'"S:  from  Noel.    He  had  left 

Flvin  T?  '"»..'  '"P*'"'  °^  ^''  how  and  spear,  Moses 
%n„.  They  had  gone  north  as  far  as  the  railway  runs, 
and  were  about  taking  to  canoes.  He  seems  actually  in  a 
state  of  excitement— a  wonder  for  him  " 

*;What  about?"  Virginia  asked  as  he  paused. 
y,Jtif  °V'' *hout  Mr.  Flynn's  specimens  which 
were  sent  down  to  Quebec  for  him  to  assay.    He  thinks 

StohTo""'    '^^'^  T'  '°  •"=  '^^  higgest  kin^of 

itLttSurr/s:;;."' '''-  "-^  ™'"°"^'-'  ^^^ 

"Isn't  that  splendid!"  chorused  Virginia.  The  mil- 
honaire  prospect  touched  her  vaguely,  but  her  whole  soul 
was  wrapped  in  Jack's  success. 

220 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER 


Holbeach  hesitated,  before  deciding  to  try  his  experi- 
ment.   "But  he  put  an  'if  to  it,"  he  added. 
"An'if?" 

"Yes;  '*/  we  can  get  our  hands  on  the  stuff,'  he  says. 
It  seems  the  old  man  Flynn  didn't  let  on  to  Jack  at  first 
that  he  was  afraid  some  of  his  specimens  had  been  stolen 
by  a  man  who  was  with  them  before,  a  former  miner, 
and  apparently  a  troublesome  customer  with  whom  Jack 
had  more  than  one  row." 

A  little  gasp  came  from  the  shadows,  and  Holbeach  feU 
that  his  experiment  was  being  too  successful. 
He  made  no  sign,  however,  going  on  quietly : 
".  .  .  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  this  man,  after  hanging 
closely  round  Flynn  for  weeks,  as  if  keeping  an  eye  on 
him,  suddenly  vanishes  from  the  camp  at  the  same  time 
as  two  Chicago  engineers  who  had  been  looking  about  for 
openings.  It  certainly  seems  as  though  he  may  have  got 
the  start  of  them." 

A  sickness  of  disappointment  swept  over  Virginia. 
Was  Jack  to  come  back  stamped  a  second  time  with  fail- 
ure? No  failure  would  make  any  difference  to  her,  but 
she  knew  what  it  would  mean  to  him  and  how  the  iron 
had  entered  into  his  soul. 
"And  what  will  they  do?"  she  asked  blankly. 
Her  father  struck  a  match  and  lit  a  cigarette  before  he 
answered.  In  the  flash  of  the  match  he  had  seen  the  dark 
eyes  fixed  on  him  appealingly. 

"They've  hurried  their  start  and  kept  their  movements 
as  quiet  as  they  could.    Perhaps  they  may  get  ahead  of 
the  other  lot  yet." 
"But  if  they  meet  them?" 

"Well,  then,  I  hope  they  won't  break  the  law.  Noel 
says:  'We're  ready  for  trouble,  even  if  it  comes  to  a 
fight.'" 

221 


"A  fight?" 

"Well.  I'd  trust  those  two  to  hold  their  own." 

them— and  quite  right  too    Vn.,n„  '  ''"°"' 

the  world  an'd  talce'thdiThanlnrdr" "  ^°  °"  ^"*° 
sw?  \tn  ir?""^  ""'■  ""'  ^'■^y  -<=t  with  no  an- 

-.f  xv^^Lrch^:— ^^  ---  - 

^Si-£x^s^^^^^^^ 

^nee^s  the  LITSu^ntt  •.•""■  "  ^°°'  ''^  '^''  ^'^  - 
He  paused,  but  the  only  sound  was  a  long-drawn  sigh 

My  fortune  ...  Oh  I" 

tray  l!;r.SX"'""°°'  *"'  "^^  "^'  «^^  "^  ^  ^- 
"Yes.    You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  leave  you  with- 
222 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 


i 


out  a  pocketful  of  gold,  like  the  lady  in  the  song,  do  you  ? 
Well,  anyway,  it  gives  those  two  young  fellows  a  good 
chance  of  a  start.  I  think,  if  things  go  as  well  as  I  hope, 
you  and  I  will  have  to  take  a  canoe  trip  to  the  Virginia 
Mining  Camp  next  summer  and  inspect  our  riches.  How 
would  you  like  that?" 

"Oh,  would  you  really  go  and  really  take  me  with  you  ?" 
she  breathed  fervently. 

"I  might,  if  it's  feasible,"  he  promised.  "A  good  deal 
may  happen  before  that." 

There  was  such  comfort  in  this  prospect  that  for  a  time 
it  dimmed  the  specter  of  fear  destined  to  haunt  .'irginia 
in  many  a  coming  night  hour.  There  was  comfort,  too, 
in  the  sense  of  her  father's  kindliness,  that  familiar,  en- 
compassing kindliness  that  could  not  but  vanquish  the 
new  resentment  and  shame. 

Next  day  the  two  women  left  Owl's  Nest,  Miss 
Creighton  serene  in  the  possession  of  two  new  floral 
specimens,  Virginia  with  four  fresh  cuts  in  the  handle 
of  her  landing-net. 

There  was  a  passing  mood  of  compunction  as  she 
looked  at  these  latter  scores  and  remembered  who  had 
carved  them  so  carefully  for  her.  But  Nature  has  or- 
dained that  youth  for  its  own  preservation  shall  be  com- 
fortably padded  in  egoism  against  the  jars  of  the  outside 
world,  and  so,  poor  Hugh,  glooming  over  his  salmon-rod, 
passed  into  the  things  that  were. 

Dorval  sat  on  his  veranda,  in  the  late  afternoon  leisure, 
reading  the  Montreal  Star  and  smoking  a  cigarette.  The 
click  of  the  white  wooden  gate  made  him  look  up  to 
see  the  approaching  figure  of  Mrs.  LeRoy. 

Rarely  did  that  worthy  stir  beyond  her  own  gate,  but 
when  she  went,  it  was  in  state.  Decently  attired  in  a 
black  merino  dress  with  a  treasured  old  beaded  cape,  a 

223 


lit' 


den  walk  '"'^  ''"'^'^''  ="  «''«  '''^ode  up  the  g 

^  With  ^a  prevision  of  untoward  news.  Dorval  rce 

be::;^Seetestr'^''^^"--    V°«have. 
for  the  tCat  ^  '""'"'  J^"^'  ^^  ^oes  wonde 

_^^^No.  thank  you.  I  don't  hold  with  teattwee.™ 
"Well  try  a  glass  of  wine  after  your  walk  >' 

shik  httaV'  ^"  ^'-^  ''^'"  «^^^enedr  face,  as  sh, 
vveil,  then,  raspberry  vinegar?" 

Iced  drii*.  tt^  «.  ,  d?J,«  J  WS".!-.  .nd 

tremulous  touch,  she  began-  somewhat 

the  dme'^oT'^:  trTl^Z''^  '""^'^  ^^  -- 
with  arms^rorg%;r:'f  irtck?-""^  '  ''^  -''' 

^$^n-igI^:SSeiStS^^^ 

Yes,  many  a  cood  hit  nf  (,„»    •       ?  '"^  '™^- 

/  d  gooa  bit  of  hot  gmgerbread  you've  given 

224 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER 

me  when  I  was  always  hungry.  My  uncle's  housekeeping 
was  not  lavish,  you  know." 

"  'Twas  skimpy — that's  what  'twas,"  she  rejoined  with 
conviction.  "I  told  him  once  as  'twasn't  fair  feedin' 
growing  boys  on  clam  soup  an'  lobsters  got  cheap,  a  boat- 
load at  a  time." 

"And  he  had  a  good  answer  ready,  I'm  sure.  But  we 
were  young,  and  we  rubbed  through  all  right,  at  least  I 
did." 

"And  you  ain't  old  yet.  But  I  didn't  come  over  here 
to  talk  about  things  past  an'  gone.  As  I  was  saying, 
you've  been  a  good  friend  to  me  many  a  day,  an'  I  know 
would  allays  stand  by  me.  So  when  there  was  this  word 
of  Jack  going  oflf  again,  I  didn't  even  feel  as  I  need  come 
to  talk  it  over  with  you.  'Mr.  Dorval's  in  it,'  says  Jack, 
an'  so  I  knew  it  was  all  right." 

Dorval  sat  erect  in  his  chair,  his  face  suddenly  grave. 

"And  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"And  now,  as  it  seems,  there's  some  idea  of  trouble 
ahead — not  as  Jack  wrote  much  about  it,  but  '.'s  some- 
how there  in  what  he  didn't  say.  I  get  thinkin  at  night, 
an'  all  those  things  comes  to  bother  me,  as  I  believe  the 
devil  sends  into  one's  head  just  afore  the  dawn.  You've 
heard  say,  perhaps,  as  that's  the  hour  the  Lord  gave  the 
devil  to  make  his  own  mischief  in.  It's  then,  lying  awake, 
as  you  get  that  trapped  feelin'  an  Injun  does  if  you  shut 
the  door  tight  when  he's  in  the  room." 

The  rugged  face  twitched  and  the  hands  worked  more 
restlessly,  as  she  drew  a  deep  breath.  Dorval,  watching, 
knew  that  the  mother  fears  were  awake,  and  would  have 
spoken,  but  she  went  on : 

"There's  no  one  knows  like  you  do,  Mr.  Dorval,  what 
cause  I  have  to  mistrust  the  tempting  of  the  mines.  It 
seems  is  though  there  were  a  voice  in  them,  calling,  an' 
225 


'HI 


an'  our  home  went        ••  *  ""^  *''*  me  hus 

•1-  a  weak'nat'1;- t 'r  ."'  *'  ""'^''^  « 
work  and  home  to  w«d  assS^     ^  '"'""'"^  ^"''^ 

The  handsome  Jerse,ma„  had  n^^tyw''"  '"^  ' 
•  •  •  An'  sometimes  t  j    swymg  power  in  } 

dark  hours  com^'Si"""^-'  i^"^**^^^  -^en 
»°.  after  thinking  of  it ll   «H       'V?*  '"°°<''  t°o-    ^ 

What  about  ?"  **'•  ^"'al  thinks.' " 

J^'  '''  ^*"  "o  'ack  Of  s^path,  i„  ^^  hrus, 

'"  the  W3,  h„,^  Xut  your  Tno  ^^'""  "^  ""■^'''  ^ 
hearted  a  one  to  let  the  n^  •        """  "'  ="'  too  goo( 
wasted  foolin'  round  t  Sfr'°"^'^>«  ^^  Ws  youA 
the-wisps  .  .  ."    ""'^  •"  *«>  '^oods  after  them  ^iU-o 

'^on't^rLtl'f^'' *-''«*  her: 
fory  and  Koi£',:^J-;  -ho  first  heard  Jack'. 
I  meant  to  put  money  in  T^     u"  '"  *«=  others,  saying 
-e  a  close  man.  youUw  """"•    ^*>'^'  ^""^^  here  «« 

Not  them  as  knows  you!""  " 

At  any  rate  I  m^^a 

■■»  now  on  wiId-goosell7an"dTr  '^^'''^  '°  ^"d 
•^an  trust  me  not  to  pC  j^i  /r.^'  '''''  '  """^o" 

226 


UGHTER 

«:ood  for  much 
Ui  me  husband, 


'■  hidden  things 
"un  routine  of 
mate  ruin,  but 
*  in  any  case, 
power  in  him. 
>ys  when  the 
3d,  too.    And 
'id,  I  says  to 
hinks.' " 

the  brusque 

o  have  been 
he  might  be 
''  too  good- 
is  youth  be 
an  will-o'- 


:ard  Jack's 
-rs,  saying 
s  here  call 


■  to  spend 
think  you 
s  for  his 
:an  guess 
to  Time 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER 


Leaning  toward  her  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  Dorval 
spoke  with  kindly  earnestness. 

She  answered  him  with  a  shake  of  her  head,  while  the 
underlying  melancholy  of  her  Celtic  race  sombered  her 
eyes. 

"There's  hurts  that's  beyond  Time,  though,  to  doctor, 
and  I  want  to  save  the  young  folks  from  such,  if  I  can. 
But  you're  right.  I'm  an  old  fool,  an'  I  wonder  you're 
patient  with  me.  Afore  I  go,  I'll  say  as  you  mustn't  think 
I'm  meanin'  harm  of  them  as  has  helped  me  an'  mine. 
Every  one  must  look  out  for  their  own,  and  no  blame  to 
them.    An'  now  I'll  be  going,  thanking  you   sir." 

Dorval,  seeing  a  chance  of  a  diversion,  was  glad  to  let 
this  allusion  to  Holbeach  pass  without  notice. 

"Why,  there's  Virginia  coming  up  the  road  with 
Esther!  She  must  have  come  down  from, Owl's  Nest 
yesterday,"  he  said,  rising  and  going  forward. 

"Come  up  and  pay  me  a  visit.  You  see,  I've  got  com- 
pany," he  called.  Then,  as  they  came  nearer:  "Why, 
Virginia,  you've  deserted  us  lately." 

As  he  .spoke  he  took  her  hand,  and  wondered  if  it  was 
the  damp  overhanging  hair  that  made  her  eyes  look  so 
deep  and  dark  and  her  face  so  shadowy. 

"Yes,  we  only  came  home  last  night,"  she  said.  Then 
without  breaking  into  the  usual  glad  details  of  sport,  she 
went  forward  and  stood  in  front  of  Mrs.  LeRoy.  saying: 

"Why,  we  were  just  coming  over  to  see  you.  The  tide 
was  on  the  turn,  and  we  went  for  our  bathe  first." 

Mrs.  LeRoy  scanned  her  with  the  contented  criticism 
which  can  see  no  flaw. 

"Yes,  an'  you've  gone  an'  wet  your  hair  again,  as  will 
take  all  the  color  out  of  it,"  she  commented. 

"Well,  I  twisted  up  the  braid,  but  it  always  comes 
down." 


227 


"Yes  hthVTL     ^   ^  *°  "*''«  a  '■"sh  for  it '" 

"I  had  a  line  from  Mr.  Noel  about  his  fossils  " 
^^^^I^o^vOd^n-t  thin,  he'd  have  time  to  ..ralK.^ 

;^And  what  does  Jack  say  about  it  ?" 

says  4V  itLdUf-  ''"^'"''  "'^  ^'^-  K^  i"- 
canoe  men  a!  Stee'Sea7ofT;  ^"^J' j"'  "^  <='-" 
other  „a„  can  come/fter^  ^  tbe^ol^P^  ^""^  ^ 

^ut  this  man  who  owpe  Td^i,  „         ^     ,.. 
asked,  her  intent  ,a.e  o^Mrs^lX"      '^'    '''''''' 

wasr;Ln;ed1nsteV^"Lr^ '".^^''^  '  -•" 
Oerfu.  the  chance!  thatboy  ee^^t'  'sh '"" '  T  "°"- 
that's  in  him     You  m.n^  ^uK  5  ='i°W"i&  the  stuff 

Scotch  minTster  from  D™    f  ""''  ^'■-  °°'-"^'-  ^•«="  *e 

and  Jack  waTiust  „n7.f      °""  ^'"'  *'"°"^''  *"«  *«• 

handy?    N^t  ha"he  1        Tl  ^'*  '''^  '"^"^^^  ^'i^k 

After  lyi.^tSf'aJ'Lur  """.    *""''  ^"^  "'"''  •"=  'l^"'- 
y ««  nait  an  hour  on  his  stomach  in  the  ice-water 

>a8 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 


gripping  the  stick  the  man  had  holt  on,  with  two  or  three 
hanging  on  to  his  heels,  'twas  surely  natural  to  swear  a 
bit  just  to  keep  himself  warm,  an'  yet  the  parson's  feel- 
ings were  that  delicate,  he  never  looked  Jack's  way  again. 
Well,  perhaps  he  knew  best  how  little  account  his  life  was 
to  save." 

Dorval  laughed  out  in  hearty  admiration  of  the  web 
spun  by  the  stout  old  heart  to  hide  its  fears. 

"You're  right  I  I  expect  Jack  can  take  care  of  himself. 
And  he's  got  a  good  second  in  Noel,"  he  added,  with  a 
glance  at  Esther.  Had  he  felt  that  new  atmosphere  of 
aloofness  in  her  and  been  hurt  by  it  ? 

"It's  nice  to  be  a  man,"  the  girl  said,  with  a  wistfully 
caught  breath. 

But  this  was  heresy  in  Mrs.  LeRoy's  eyes. 

"Well,  women  can  do  a  lot  if  they  only  think  it,"  she 
protested.  "If  we're  crying  out  we're  poor  weak  things, 
poor  weak  things  we'll  be.  There  wasn't  a  man  along 
the  shore  could  turn  over  a  heavier  boat,  nor  pull  a  bet- 
ter oar  in  a  rough  sea,  than  me  oncet.  Well,  them  days 
are  over,  and  I'm  a  talkative  old  thing  as  had  better  be 
getting  home  afore  the  hungry  chickens  is  crying  shame 
on  me." 

As  she  rose  to  go,  Virginia  said:  "I'll  walk  down  to 
the  ferry  with  you." 

They  left  Esther  at  the  gate,  and  as  Dorval  watched 
the  two  going  oflf,  their  heads  close  together,  he  guessed 
the  subject  of  their  talk. 

"Getting  Jack  sent  out  of  the  way  I  That's  a  bad  idea 
to  have  got  into  the  women's  heads,"  he  meditated. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
JACK'S  ADVENTURES 

O^ tH^^r^'^u'?  ^""''^  °^  civilization,  wh, 

Joseoh  cS  ^''^  '!"^°"'f«'^i"g  woods  were  cut  dow, 

"a,Ton.V  ."'^°  P"''"*'  "P  ="'•  down  the  northe 
wonnf/  '"•*  ';'""'■  °'  """^  ^"d  went  into  theVre 
^ZlTZl'f  '"?'"'■  '"^'"'  '^'  -identa.l/to'^bu 
r.P    \f  f  °"'  *''PP«"  ^n''  Indians.    Here  Tad 

LeRoy  had  waited  two  long,  impatient  days  for  N^l  ^ 
now  h.s  waumg  was  ended,  and  in  the  late  no^e^n't^ 

su'':hre^4^rr^'^'^"*^ —<'---•'' 
a9^:^Xwi:s;rs;^;;-r-^- 

Jack  was  a  favorite  with  the  fat  little  landlord   who 

chtknlded  "  \T'^  '^"'  '''  *'-°"'  -d  broHed 
Chicken  ended  up  with  coffee  that  was  his  just  pride. 

„nlJ  '  ^°"  r"*  ^^  ""°*"  '"^'  like  it  in  a  hurry 
unless  you  catch  it  and  cook  it  yourself."  said  Jack.       ^' 

230 


JACK'S  ADVENTURES 


"Oh,  I'm  a  fair  cook,"  Noel  agreed.  Then,  harking 
back  to  their  one  subject : 

"And  it  was  only  yesterday  you  made  sure  they'd  really 
gone  up  here  ?" 

"Yes.  They  must  have  left  the  train  at  the  rapids  and 
passed  here  without  stopping,  or  Guilliou  would  have 
known  all  about  them.  But  yesterday  some  trappers 
cKHie  in  who  had  been  at  their  camp.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking their  description.  They  noticed  Jim  Coolcn's  lost 
forefinger  when  he  gave  them  some  'baccy.  I  suppose 
they  called  in  on  the  chance  of  such  gifts." 

Noel  listened  intently,  elbows  on  table,  his  chin  on  his 
clasped  hands. 

"Rut  a  whole  week  or  more's  start  I  Man,  what  chance 
have  we  got  ?"  he  protested. 

His  chair  tilted  back,  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth.  Jack 
looked  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  though  his  eyes  were 
alert.  He  was  bareheaded,  and  the  evening  light  framed 
his  close-clipped  fair  hair  and  showed  the  resolute  lines  of 
his  impassive  face. 

"Every  chance,"  came  his  quiet  assertion.  "Not  hav- 
ing any  reason  to  fear  being  followed,  they're  sure  to 
take  time  to  prospect  as  they  go.  They  won't  want  to 
be  leaving  any  likely  spots  behind  them.  Even  if 
they've  got  the  stolen  stuff — as  of  course  they  must  have 
or  they  wouldn't  be  here — that's  not  to  say  that  they 
know  the  place  it  comes  from.  They've  got  enough  coun- 
try to  go  over  to  keep  them  from  now  to  Judgment  Day. 
I  hear  their  boats  are  big  and  heavy,  too,  so  that  they 
can't  do  the  farther  portages." 

"And  you  really  expect  to  catch  up  to  them  ?" 

"What  else  would  be  any  good  expecting?"  was  the  re- 
tort. 

"And  when  you  do?" 


M 


231 


Hi!' 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

answered'""''  *'"■  '  '""'  "'  '''''''"  """«'•  "u.  onl 

♦„  ?  "  ^  'V^'  '*  '"'''''  '*'"'  •"  *hen  we  get  near  their 
to  hang  back  and  make  a  rush  pas,  i„  ,he  night  One 
weve  got  our  canoe  cached  and  are  off  on  fhe  trail 

qu!ck-"I  w™  V'  ""^'^"-    ^y  **  bye-'-sharp  anri 
t  wl.  M    r  ?  ^"^  °"  ^°"'  **'"«  8O0d  at  the  paddle  ?' 
I   was  Noel  s  urn  to  smile  confidently,  as  he  said : 
Look  at  my  long  arms  and  back.    Mightn't  they  be- 

irrat^C"^ '  ^^^  -'-''  •^'"^ "« '  -'  -- 

"well  Tn\tr""^-,/' ""'  *"  ="  '°"^'  "'-''y  ^•'"J" 

Wei    II    back  myself  to  grind  as  long  as  you  do 

«t  a",f  o7ir-''H  ''"'^'  "'  "''"'  '  """■-''«  -*  "» 
get  a  lot  of  grmd  out  of  oneself." 

A  longing  came  into  Jack's  eyes 

he'i^keV""  """''  ""'"''  ""  ''"'^'"  **  «^  ^'  »»  ♦hat?" 

thinlt.^'  *•"''■„  ^^"".'"'^  °'  '*•    ^  ''°"'"  '^  there's  any 

Ve^n,       .'"  f  f"'"'"  '"■*  Gowganda.    At  any  rate. 

I  ve  never  heard  of  a  larger  percentage  of  pure  s«ver." 

Stnkmg  one  fist  on  the  table,  he  went  on  ■ 

Five  years'  hard  work,  Jack,  and  we'll  be  able  to  start 

out  and  see  the  world  like  princes.     An  ^an  eSn^ 

I II  bu.ld  for  myself  up  m  this  wilderness"-with  a  wave 
of  his  cigarette  toward  the  northern  forest.    "It  would 

w;:S"v." "  "^  "'^•"  "^'"^  ^ «-"  "^'^  "p  h°e?.:^ 

fo«  t'l'""^''  '"''  '"  ''  *"  ''^ho  of  hidden  tumult.    Be- 

th^H  T"  '° u  ••'"  "'"''°"  °^  *hose  who  would  share 
the  good  things  their  work  was  to  win 

From  the  nearby  woods  came  the  hoarse,  derisive  note 

232 


JACK'S  ADVENTURES 


of  a  swamp  blackbird,   and   Jack,   jumping   up,   spoke 
shortly : 

"Better  not  be  prevk>us.  It's  not  good  luck.  Have  you 
got  all  your  small  things  stowed  away  on  you?  Flask 
and  compass?" 

"Ves." 

He  leaned  nearer,  and  spoke  cautiously : 

"Your  revolver  and  your  belt  of  money?" 

"Yes." 

"It  was  best  to  halve  it." 

"Yes.    Then  we're  off  soon  ?" 

"Now.  The  moon  won't  set  for  two  hours  after  sun- 
set. It's  luck  for  us  she's  young.  It  will  give  us  another 
stage  in  between  supper  and  bed,  though  there  won't  be 
much  bed  for  us  for  awhile.    Hullo,  here's  Moses." 

They  were  both  standing  now  by  the  steps,  as  a  little 
wrinkled,  wild-bearded  man  shambled  up  in  a  pair  of 
enormous  high  boots.  These  miner's  boots  were  Moses' 
badge  of  office  and  donned  for  all  solemn  occasions. 

"Got  the  stores  all  in?"  asked  Jack,  and  Noel  noticed 
now,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  spoke  as  leader. 

"Yes,  sor,"  was  the  respectful  answer.  Moses  was  an 
old-country  man  and  knew  his  place. 

"Here,  then,"  said  Jack,  stepping  down  into  the  open 
with  a  cautious  glance  around,  "come  and  take  a  last  look 
at  the  map.    Show  Mr.  Noel  your  points  over  again." 

The  three  heads  were  bent  close  together  over  the  map 
of  Jack's  careful  making.  Here  and  there  this  map  was 
spotted  with  red  marks,  several  far  apart,  though  in  one 
place  there  was  a  little  cluster  of  them.  On  this  ciuster 
Moses'  grimy  finger  paused : 

"  'Twas  here  as  I  found  that  big  lump  of  quartz  with 
the  shiny  cross  on  it.    You'll  be  remembering  it,  sor?" 

"I  do,"  was  Noel's  emphatic  answer,  while  his  pencil 

233 


' 


m'' 


\m 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

underlined  the  cluster  of  spots.  "It's  that  I'm  going  for 
Then  lookmg  up  keenly,  "You're  sure  this  Co^en  fella 
hasn  t  got  a  bit  from  there,  too'" 

Moses  scratched  his  head  and  looked  sheepish     Th 
thought  of  that  theft  was  a  sore  point  to  him 

Well,  there  did  be  another  small  bit  as  I  chipped  oi 
at  the  same  tine,"  he  acknowledged  ^ 

Confound  you!     When  you'd  got  hold  of  stuff  lik, 
that   you  should  have  slept  on  it  even  if  it  maS"  yo 
black  and  blue  all  over,"  Noel  grumbled.    TheT  with 
new  thought :    "But  was  he  ever  at  the  place?    wJul 
he  know  it  if  Ihe  stumbled  on  it  ?" 
Moses  tried  to  look  diplomatic,  as  he  said  • 
That  s  beyond  my  telling.     He  wasn't  there  in  mv 
««.pany  but  thinking  it  over  of  late.  I've  been  wond"- 
ZVl     V^T  ''"t  «^"  fo"o*ed  me  in  my  prowls  un- 
W^nownst    You  mmd,  Mr.  LeRoy,  the  ca.^  under  Z 
b.g  rock-s.de  where  we  found  the   skull   lying   by   the 

the  lot  of  us  in  the  night,  calling  out  as  he'd  se«.  an 
Injun  ghost,  most  horrible  like."  ™  a  ««««  an 

"Y"/'  said  Jack  grimly.  It  was  one  of  the  many  dark 
memories  he  had  resolutely  put  aside 

"We'lf  IL""^,'  ^"\  «^'°*«' ""•^^^  h»  ^^ggy  eyebrows. 
Well,  the  spots  not  more  than  twenty  paces  forenenst 
there,  up  along  the  brook  side.    You  can't  miss  it  '' 

im  not  going  to  miss  it."  said  Jack.  Then,  with  a 
glance  of  reference  to  Noel,  "that's  where  I  thoughTie'd 
better  camp  and  wait  for  Moses." 

"Yes,  that's  our  point,"  the  other  agreed.    "And  I'm 

glad  It's  so  well  fixed  in  his  memory  "  ^"«>  '  m 

"Well  then,  Moses,"  Jack  went  on.  "youll  just  eet 

there  as  quick  as  you  can.  turning  off  at  the  brook^ 

mouth.    I  shan't  blaze  it.  but  you'll  taow  it?" 

234 


JACK'S   ADVENTURES 


"AVould  I  know  me  own  grandmother!"  was  the  em- 
phatic response. 

"And  if  you  don't  find  us,  camp  and  wait.  After  all, 
we  may  meet  you  on  the  way,  for  we've  got  to  rush  it 
to  take  out  our  rights." 

"True  for  you,  sor." 

The  old  prospector's  face  was  all  aglow  with  joy  of 
the  chances  and  risks  that  were  the  breath  of  life  to 
him. 

"And  see  here,  Moses.  There  are  seven  of  us  in  this, 
and  your  share  may  make  a  rich  man  of  you." 

"An'  a  queer  sighi  I'd  be  in  a  black  coat  an'  a  shiny 
hat.  But  if  the  luck  comes,  I'll  -o  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome 
to  make  me  soul,  an'  in  each  of  me  son's  families  I'll  edu- 
cate wan  for  a  priest." 

"Well,  I  hope  they'll  like  it.  But  what  I  mean  is, 
you've  got  to  do  your  best  for  this.  If  you  get  there  and 
find  our  marks  jumped,  well  .  .  ." 

The  pause  was  expressive,  but  Moses  seemed  to  under- 
stand it.  "I'll  do  all  that  one  Irishman's  brains  or  pair 
of  fists  can  do,  you  be  sure  of  that." 

"I  believe  you  will,  and  see  here — give  Guilliou  a  hint 
to  keep  a  quiet  tongue  about  us." 

"He's  all  right,  sor." 

A  red  sunset  burned  behind  the  trees  and  drew  the  trail 
of  the  Red  Swan  up  the  lake  when  the  two  men  carried 
their  canvas  bags  down  to  the  water.  At  the  ramshackle 
little  landing-stage  lay  their  loaded  canoe,  and  Noel,  look- 
ing down  at  it,  said  idly : 

"It's  a  bit  of  a  thing  to  carry  the  fortunes  of  the  Ar- 
gonauts." 

"Its  like  was  good  enough  for  LaSalle  and  Champlain," 
said  Jack,  who  had  all  a  Quebec  boy's  knowledge  of  his 


■     i! 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

wht"»i  ^^'°JI;    ^""^  ^^  "°  °"*  «bo"t  save  Mosc 

S|urSnn-£.Xa„t"  "-  ^"--- 
usSlS^f  ""I  '"•*"'*'  ^'''°''  ^°'  *«  '^><«  were  un- 

to^h«'°?  '^'^'  ""'^  *°'  """*  °^  'he  nights  life  turned 
From  the  hour  when  the  first  red  light  of  dawn  pierced 

racSd  a3' ?th''  """^  ^'■^"  the' high-sai.ing'ml' 
tracked  ahead  of  them  a  mystic  path  in  silver,  they  soed 
on  with  short  rests  for  food  and  sleep  ^  ^ 

Few  words  passed  between  them  as  they  paddled  for 
they  needs  must  speak  louder  then,  and  thercould  „ot 
tell  what  listener  the  forest  might  hide 

But  as  they  rested  on  some  mossy  bank  bv  a  care- 
fully damped  fire,  they  talked  over  their  pipes  She  enX« 
talk  of  comrades.  For  comrades  and  staunch  frieS 
Aey  were  fast  becoming  in  the  mutual  respect  they  were 
leammg  for  each  other.  ^ 

many  lessons  of  h,s  craft,  it  was  done  under  the  guise 
of^sual  r«:ol  ections  that  had  in  them  no  air  of  su^ri! 
onty.  and  he,  m  his  turn,  learned  from  Jack  the  lorTof 
ti«se  woods  and  lakes  where  the  latter' had  served  so 
grm  an  apprenticeship  fo  fortune 

d^VZ.^f  ""*  °"  •'!"''*  "°  °""  ™  'he  river,  until  one 

an,  Sr  .  '™""'*  =  P"'"'  °"  ^  ''"g-°"'  f«"  of  Indi- 
ans paddlmg  downstream.  There  was  no  time  to  avoid 
them,  even  .f  they  had  wanted  to,  and  soon  they  were  ex- 
changing the  gossip  of  the  trail. 


3l6 


JACK'S   ADVENTURES 


"You  belong  camp  up  there?"  was  the  first  question, 
put  with  a  pointing  hand  northward. 

Jacic  knew  that  the  way  to  answer  an  Indian's  question 
is  with  another  one,  so  he  retorted : 

"The  men  with  the  two  boats — how  far  ahead  are 
they?" 

"Two  days  since  passed  their  camp  by  big  white  stone. 
Fine  camp,  plenty  fine  tent.  P'rhaps  big  men  from  Ot- 
tawa come  see  country?" 

"Perhaps.    How  long  have  they  been  in  camp  there  ?" 

"Three  days,  think.  They  no  fish  or  cut  trees.  P'rhaps 
make  pictures." 

"Perhaps,"  Jack  agreed.  And  with  a  gift  of  tobacco 
the  pow-wow  ended. 

"Do  you  know  the  spot?"  asked  Noel,  as  they  glided 
off. 

"Yes.  Rather  too  well.  One  of  our  camps  was  in 
there.  It  shows  they  know  what  they're  about.  To-mor- 
row at  noon  we  must  beg^n  to  mind  what  we're  doing." 

From  now  out,  Noel  noted  that  Jack  was  distinctly  in 
command,  and  he  obeyed  the  slightest  direction  in  silence. 

The  next  day  was  still  and  damp,  with  a  heavy  mist 
overhanging  the  water.  Dark  and  colorless,  great  spruce 
trees  peered  through  the  gray  wreaths  like  specters,  as 
towards  evening  the  canoe  crept  softly  up  to  a  densely 
wooded  island. 

"We'll  lay  up  here,"  said  Jack,  "and  we'll  do  without 
a  fire." 

With  a  gesture  he  signed  to  Noel  to  help  to  draw  up 
the  canoe  into  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  muttering :  "We'll 
take  no  chances,"  and  then  led  the  way  to  the  northern 
point  of  the  island,  where,  with  a  thin  screen  of  bushes 
between  them  and  the  water,  they  settled  themselves. 
Any  lack  of  cheer  in  their  meal  of  hard  biscuit  and  cold 


237 


n  II! 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    nATTr.^-r,.^ 

bacon,  washed  down  with  waf»..  ,^a  a 

"Look,"  "id  Jmk,  wilh  poiniin.  «„„, 

Nod  «.„j  ,™„  „^  „  ,^  ^,  ^^  ^^  _^ 

-Tbm !   I»  •  li-  fra.  itat  dan.  ~A  to  Ihc  p„|„,  I 

the  mists  dimmed  the  hillsides  ' 

^ack  looked  around  and  saw  that  it  all  worked  for 

J^U,'°'^!f^'l^''^  °'^"'"^  *«  ^««her  to  suit  us  bet- 

bosoming  two  islands.  '  '"■ 

^ck  and  Noel  had  each  taken  w,  turn  at  »  j^^ 
steep,  one  watching  while  the  other  slept,^  Z^  if^ 
238 


JACK'S   ADVENTURES 


midnight  and  Jack  touching  Noel  on  the  shoulder  to 
rouse  him,  they  both  stood  up. 

Silently  their  start  was  made.  In  this  lake  the  cur- 
rent was  so  slight  that  they  need  put  no  force  into  their 
paddles,  and  Jack,  as  usual  in  the  stern,  guided  the  canoe 
in  close  to  the  shore. 

Rounding  a  point,  he  checked  Noel,  and  they  sat  mo- 
tionless, their  hearts  thumping  hard. 

There,  on  a  level  clear  space,  lay  their  enemies'  camp 
before  them.  Their  fire,  which  still  smouldered  red.  was 
not  far  from  the  shore.  Further  in  among  the  scattered 
trees  stood  the  fine  new  tent  that  had  roused  the  Indi- 
ans' admiration.  Near  it  was  a  rougher  lean-to,  and  here, 
no  doubt,  the  men  slept. 

On  the  shore  were  two  canoes.  The  lighter  one,  a 
birch-bark,  had  been  lifted  on  to  the  bank.  The  other,  a 
large  dug-out,  was  all  but  afloat,  tied  by  a  rope  to  a  tree. 
"We'll  have  the  big  one,"  Noel  heard  the  exultant 
whisper.  Then  each  held  his  breath  while,  somehow,  the 
feat  was  accomplished  without  a  sound  to  rouse  the  sleep- 
ing camp.  Hardly  could  they  believe  in  their  luck  when 
they  found  themselves  gliding  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
lake  again  with  a  ripple  behind  them  that  told  of  their 
captive  tow  astern. 

They  were  facing  upstream  now,  direct  on  their  trail, 
but  not  a  word  was  spoken  until  they  had  rounded  the 
next  point.    Then  Noel  drew  a  deep  breath  and,  pausing 
on  his  stroke,  asked : 
"What  next?" 

"We'll  keep  on  for  a  bit,  and  then  sink  her  with  stones 
near  the  shore.  She  might  come  in  handy  later.  Our 
friends  will  lose  time  hunting  for  her,  and  then  have  to 
travel  double  shifts,  so  we've  done  a  good  stroke  of 
work." 


239 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

Ten  days  later,  perched  on  a  nigged  slope  of  thick- 
growing  young  spruce,  Jack  straightened  himself  and 
shut  up  his  clasp-knife  with  a  snap. 

He  had  just  cut  the  last  gash,  driven  in  the  last  nail 
on  the  stake  that  ended  their  boundary  line  and  an- 
nounced their  claim. 

"There,"  he  said,  "Virginia  Camp  is  marked  out. 
Good  luck  to  it  I" 

His  hand  went  up  to  the  brim  of  his  old  soft  felt  hat, 
and  Noel,  standing  at  his  side,  followed  suit. 

"Good  luck  to  it,  and  confound  its  enemies!"  he  re- 
peated. Their  hands  met  in  a  grip,  of  congratulation  on 
their  achievement. 

A  week's  toil  of  prospecting  and  surveying  lay  behind 
them  with  this  result.  They  had  not  been  niggardly  in 
their  boundaries,  and  had  taken  in  the  land  some  distance 
up  both  steep  banks  of  the  little  stream  running  down  to 
the  navigable  river.  Every  inch  of  it  was  densely 
wooded,  and  in  the  airless  thickets  iierce  swarms  of  mos- 
quitoes made  them  their  prey,  so  that  they  both  looked 
somewhat  the  worse  for  wear,  scratches  from  branches 
varying  the  mosquito-bites. 

The  little  ceremony  over.  Jack  came  back  to  facts. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "ittt  next  thing  will  be  for  you  to  put 
the  canoe  in  the  water  and  get  down  to  the  settlement  to 
take  out  our  rights  while  I  hold  the  camp." 

There  was  no  doubt  or  questioning  in  his  tone,  but 
Noel  looked  unconvinced. 

"Hadn't  I  better  wait  till  Moses  and  the  Frenchman 
come  ?"  he  asked. 

"What  for?    You  can  surely  do  it  alone?" 

"Sure.  But  if  those  others  turn  up,  there  will  be  four 
or  five  men  in  a  devil  of  a  temper,  and  no  police  'round 
the  comer." 

240 


JACK'S   ADVENTURES 


But  Jack  showed  no  signs  of  yielding  to  pressure. 

"That  can't  be  helped,"  he  asserted.  "I'll  make  a  new 
camp  up  the  hill,  off  the  trail,  and  lie  low ;  and,  see  here, 
don't  let  them  see  you  if  you  can  help  it.  And  when  you 
meet  Moses,  hurry  him  along.  We'll  have  grub  now,  and 
then  you'd  better  be  off." 

Seeing  there  was  no  help  for  it,  Noel  yielded ;  but  his 
heart  misgave  him,  as  he  looked  back  before  rounding  a 
point  and  saw  Jack  standing,  a  solitary  figure,  on  the 
bank. 

"Say,"  were  Jack's  last  words  called  after  him,  "you'd 
better  fetch  up  another  man,  or  even  two  if  you  can  get 
them.  No  use  killing  oneself  now.  There'll  be  lots  of 
work  for  them." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


FROM  A  CLEAR  SKY 

ON  a  crisp  August  morning,  when  the  sea-breeze 
was  rippling  a  blue  line  like  a  long  tear 
in  silk  through  the  reflections  in  the  calm 
water,  Virginia  sat  on  the  Bluff  House  steps,  sunning 
herself  after  her  early  swim. 

Her  hair  hung  loose,  in  a  dark  cloud  over  her  ilioul- 
ders,  and  beside  her  on  a  stool,  just  out  of  the  alert  fox- 
terrier's  reach,  was  a  lunch  of  rolls  and  milk. 

A  noontide  silence  brooded  over  house  and  grounds. 
Holbeach,  who  with  the  closing  of  the  fishing  season  had 
left  the  camp,  was  out  on  one  of  his  all-day  sails  along 
the  coast  in  his  yacht,  the  Wenonah,  and  might  not  be 
back  before  sunset.  Miss  Creighton  was  somewhere  in- 
doors, intent  on  her  household,  and  Virginia  had  her 
surroundings  to  herself. 

She  was  used  to  such  solitary  hours,  and  as  long  as 
they  were  spent  outdoors,  had  never  found  anything  irk- 
some in  thera.  Her  dogs,  the  changeful  aspects  of  woods 
and  sea,  had  from  childhood  taken  the  place  of  compan- 
ions to  her.  Of  late,  since  life  had  begun  to  shape  itself 
more  definitely  to  her  consciousness,  like  the  rough-hewn 
marble  under  the  sculptor's  tool,  solitude  had  bees  in  a 
new  sense  a  refuge  to  her. 

Sitting  there,  her  thoughts  strayed  idly  from  one  vis- 
ible thing  to  another,  as  our  outdoor  meditations  have  a 
34a 


FROM  A   CLEAR  SKY 


way  of  doing.  First,  she  studied  with  a  critical  eye  the 
stately  American  yacht  that  had  come  in  at  daylight  and 
anchored  off  the  Point,  the  Stars  and  Stripes  and  the 
owner's  flag  making  bright  spots  against  the  dull  August 
green  of  the  hillside. 

Then  the  garden,  stretching  from  the  veranda  steps  to 
encompass  the  curving  carriage  drive,  brought  her  atten- 
tion nearer  home. 

The  sweet-pea  hedge  showed  its  crown  of  butterfly 
bloom  behind  the  sturdier  red  and  yellow  splendors  of 
the  dahlia  row,  and  each  and  every  flower  sparlded  and 
rejoiced,  shaking  off  the  drops  of  last  night's  showers  in 
the  sunshine,  and  sending  up  their  richest  scents  as  a 
morning  oblation  to  mingle  with  the  more  subtly  pene- 
trating breath  from  the  surrounding  forest. 

"What  a  dear  world  it  is  to  be  alive  in,"  the  girl  said 

to  herself.    "If  only "  and  the  words  trailed  off  into 

a  sigh. 

The  sigh,  in  its  turn,  was  checked  at  sight  of  Dorval's 
new  buckboard  coming  smartly  up  the  road,  past  the 
French  Church,  his  pair  of  black  horses  driven  by  him- 
self, while  two  brightly  dressed  ladies  and  a  man  in  blue 
serge  filled  the  seats.  This  sight,  though  interesting, 
was  easily  explained.  The  yacht  people  must  either 
have  had  letters  to  Dorval,  or  been  friends  of  his,  and 
he  was  taking  them  for  a  drive  round  the  mountain,  as 
the  hill  that  shut  in  Lanse  Louise  on  the  landward  side 
was  called.  Dorval's  wandering  winters  and  large  busi- 
ness connections  made  such  summer  visitations  a  not  in- 
frequent thing. 

"Goodness,  he's  bringing  them  here,  and  such  a  fright 
as  I  lookl"  she  said  to  herself,  jumping  up  in  sudden 
alarm.  All  the  same,  she  was  by  no  means  a  fright  as 
she  stood  lightly  poised  on  the  steps,  her  loose  hair  stir- 

>43 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

ring  with  a  wandering  breeze  and  framing  her  expectant 
face. 

Her  slim,  white,  sun-lit  figure  was  outlined  against  the 
warm  shadows  behind  her,  and  to  Dorval's  eyes  she 
looked,  standing  there,  pathetically  young  and  solitary. 
Virginia's  gaze  passed  heedlessly  over  the  unusual  grav- 
ity of  her  friend's  face.  She  was  femininely  absorbed  in 
the  sumptuous  apparition  of  the  two  women  strangers. 
Lady  Warrenden  sat  beside  Dorval,  her  full-blown  figure 
swathed  in  string-colored  laces,  her  wonderful  locks 
crowned  with  a  broad-brimmed  leghorn  hat,  wreathed 
with  shaded  nasturtiums.  She  was  too  wise  a  woman  not 
to  know  that  she  had  passed  the  age  for  country  sim- 
plicity of  dress. 

The  lady  in  the  back  seat  was  of  a  strongly  contrast- 
ing type,  sallow  and  sinuous  and  black-haired,  with 
irregular  features  and  wonderful  dark  eyes  in  whose 
velvety  depths  lurked  a  mocking  demon.  The  noto- 
rious Mrs.  Darcy-Hyster  counted  more  scalps  to  her 
belt,  more  lives  wrecked,  than  could  many  a  professional 
beauty. 

Intimate  enough  with  Lady  Warrenden's  recent  past 
to  have  all  a  child's  mischievous  delight  in  this  descent  of 
hers  upon  Holbeach's  Canadian  home,  she  was  silently 
observant,  not  bothering  to  keep  up  any  talk  with  the 
plump,  foreign-looking  little  man  beside  her,  a  fashion- 
able errand-runner  for  women  of  her  kind.  With  the  eye 
of  a  connoisseur  the  lady  had  appraised  Dorval,  deciding 
that  behind  the  quiet  manner  there  lay  something  worth 
cultivating,  and  that  it  would  be  most  amusing  to  bring 
a  spark  of  fire  to  those  deep  gray  eyes. 

She  was  about  to  take  the  seat  beside  him,  when  Lady 
Warrenden's  promptness  forestalled  her.  Now  that  her 
raid  was  an  accomplished  fact,  even  the  tatter's  superb 
244 


FROM   A   CLEAR   SKY 


nerve  wavered,  and  she  wanted,  if  possible,  to  get  a 
carle  du  pays  from  him. 

This  desire  was  foiled,  she  almost  thought  intention- 
ally, by  his  suave  reticence,  and  she  had  to  put  a  strong 
control  on  herself  to  hide  her  growing  irritation. 

"Is  that  the  girl  ?"  she  demanded  brusquely,  as  the  car- 
riage curved  toward  the  steps. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  girl,"  was  Dorval's  brief  response. 

He  had  an  idea  that,  for  all  her  air  of  intimacy,  his 
companion  did  not  know  Virginia's  name,  and  he  had  no 
intention  of  supplying  it  for  her  benefit. 

"Why,  she's  nothing  but  a  school-girl !"  was  the  some- 
what blank  comment.  "I  thought  from  what  Giles  Hol- 
beach  said " 

She  checked  herself  with  a  swift  glance  at  Dorval. 
She  might  have  saved  herself  the  trouble,  for  his  face 
expressed  no  comment,  though  inwardly  he  was  fuming : 
"Confound  Giles  Holbeach.  So  this  is  more  of  his 
work." 

Dorval  was  man  of  the  world  enough  to  make  a  shrewd 
guess  at  the  situation,  and,  guessing,  had  left  his  usual 
occupation  to  come  and  stand  gfuard  over  Virginia  in  her 
father's  absence.  The  instinct  of  shielding  the  girl  from 
disturbing  forces  was  intuitive  to  the  man  who  had 
watched  her  growth  from  childhood  with  almost  paternal 
interest. 

"Here  are  some  friends  of  your  father's,"  he  called  to 
Virginia.  "I  saw  the  boat  was  out  to-day,  so  I  came  up 
to  show  them  the  way." 

If  there  was  a  note  of  warning  in  the  words  it  passed 
Virginia  by. 

"Friends  of  your  fathers "  the  phrase  brought  back 

certain  words  of  Giles':  "Then  you  could  get  to  know 
yowr  father's  friends  and  help  him  entertain  them." 

^45 


': 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

Here  was  her  chance  to  show  what  she  could  do.  She 
was  on  her  own  ground,  and  with  Dorval's  and  Miss 
Creighton's  mora!  support  behind  her  she  would  strive  to 
act  so  that  her  father  must  feel  she  had  a  right  to  her 
place  in  his  home. 

All  immature  self-doubts  and  shyness  fled  before  such 
a  spur,  and  a  semi-proprietary  pride  lit  Dorval's  eyes  as 
he  marked  the  air  of  dainty,  hostess-like  graciousness 
with  which  she  came  down  the  steps. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  father  is  away,  but  I  hope  you 
won't  mind  waiting,"  she  said,  smiling  up  at  Lady  War- 
renden,  whom  she  instinctively  picked  out  as  leader. 

The  latter's  smile  was  a  bit  forced,  while  the  scrutiny 
of  her  eyes  was  hard.  She  was  keen  to  note  the  possibili- 
ties of  the  budding  womanhood,  to  appraise  the  future 
power  of  face  and  manner.  There  is  nothing  that  so 
surely  arouses  the  enmity  of  women  such  as  she  as  that 
one  supreme  weapon  of  youth. 

So  this  was  the  force  that  stood  for  respectability  and 
a  decorous  old  age  in  Marcus  Holbeach's  life,  an  old  age 
in  which  she  might  have  no  part.  What  luck  it  was  that 
the  girl  had  not  possessed  enough  worldly  wisdom  to 
seize  the  chance  offered  her  through  Giles  by  her  father ; 
and,  oh,  what  a  narrow  escape  she  herself  had  had  in  the 
failure  of  that  carefully  planned  combination  of  heir  and 
daughter.  Coming  across  Giles  at  Newport,  Lady  War- 
renden  had  got  enough  out  of  him  to  be  able  to  piece  to- 
gether the  rest,  and  the  result  had  been  this  cruise  up  the 
Gulf  to  Quebec.  There  was  no  trace  of  these  thoughts  in 
her  mellifluous  tones  as  she  responded : 

"So  this  is  Mr.  Holbeach's  daughter,  our  little  hostess." 
Then,  as  she  let  Dorval  help  her  down,  and  stood  hold- 
ing Virginia's  slim  brown  hand  in  her  wonderful  soft 
white  one,  she  went  on : 

246 


FROM   A   CLEAR   SKY 


"Wait!  Of  course  we're  going  to  wait  wlicii  we've 
come  to  the  very  back  of  beyond  to  hunt  up  that  father 
of  yours,  child.  At  least  I  am — I  can't  an^ver  for  you, 
Clarice.  This  is  Mrs.  Darcy-Huyster,  lit;  ;it1,  and  this 
is  Mr.  Tom  Devon,  commonly  known  .-.  i  ''>  T  ..I  I 
can't  tell  them  your  name,  for  if  I've  ■  >^  '  :  .., m  i',  1'  e 
forgotten  it." 

"Virginia  Holbeach,"  was  the  siiiipl:  iv^vvt 

"Oh!"  Lady  Warrenden  stared,  ;.!!  the  *i  'c  u  i^n  .u^ 
hard  in  the  back  of  her  brain. 

"Why.  that  was  the  name  of  the  lovely  ',  .n  iyV^-  l.idy 
at  Holbeach  Manor,"  the  other  woman  pit  it  \va  re- 
member, Violet,  you  talked  of  copying  her  uix-.-.  for  that 
big  charity  ball." 

For  all  the  artlessness  of  the  speech.  Lady  Warren- 
den knew  that  it  was  meant  for  a  reminder  of  Ilolbeach's 
firm  refusal  to  allow  her  to  copy  the  family  portrait  and 
of  her  own  resultant  display  of  temper. 

Virginia,  too,  winced  at  this  mention  of  Holbeach 
Manor.  Since  the  momentous  interview  with  Giles,  that 
had  overshadowed  her  outlook  on  life,  her  father's  Eng- 
lish home  had  become  a  forbidden  Paradise  in  her  fancy, 
a  place  from  which  for  the  cruel  sake  of  others'  sins  she 
must  always  be  banished.  She  had  of  late  surreptitiously 
hunted  up  some  old  photographs  of  favorite  horses  and 
dogs  that  her  father  had  from  time  to  time  brought  from 
England.  Carefully  studying  their  backgrounds  of  house 
and  park  and  garden,  she  had  got  at  a  more  adequate  idea 
of  his  English  surroundings. 

Doival  had  been  quick  to  mark  the  pained  flush  and 
quiver,  and  it  was  he  who  came  to  the  rescue,  not  of  Lady 
Warrenden,  but  of  Virginia. 

"Shall  I  find  Miss  Creighton,  Virginia,  and  warn  her 
of  our  invasion  for  lunch  ?"  he  asked. 


n 


247 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

The  girl  started,  thus  recalled  to  her  hostess'  duties. 
"Oh,  will  you,  please?"  she  said  gratefully.     "And 
you'll  all  come  up  and  sit  on  the  veranda,  won't  you?" 
she  appealed. 

Lady  Warrenden  meant  presently  to  inspect  the  house, 
about  which  she  was  so  curious,  but  now  she  was  content 
to  take  possession  of  a  deep,  cushioned  chair  and  to  pro- 
ceed with  her  study  of  Virginia.  Meanwhile,  the  two  other 
visitors,  a  bit  bored,  had  retired  to  a  corner  where  they 
became  engrossed  in  a  tale  told  by  the  lady,  with  many 
explosive  appreciative  giggles  on  the  man's  part. 

During  these  few  moments  Lady  Warrenden  had  de- 
cided on  her  best  course.  It  would  be  useless  to  try  to 
hide  a  face  and  figure  like  that  in  the  backwoods  much 
longer.  Such  a  girl  must  soon  make  herself  felt,  and  it 
would  be  best  to  make  an  ally  of  her  as  quid:!"  as  possi- 
ble, so  as  to  have  some  claim  on  her  gratitude  in  the 
day  of  her  power. 

"Come,  sit  here  close  by  me,  and  let's  have  a  cozy 
chat.  I  feel  as  though  I'd  known  you  since  you  could 
crawl,  for  of  course  your  dear  father  was  never  tired 
of  talking  about  you,  his  only  one " 

A  fine  instinct  warned  Virginia  as  to  the  truthfulness 
of  this  statement,  but  she  would  not  heed  its  voice. 

"And,"  the  velvety  voice  went  on,  "I  was  struck  all  of 
a  heap,  as  they  say  here,  when  I  found  out  from  poor 
Giles,  at  Newport,  that  the  little  girl  had  come  to  the 
breaking  of  hearts.  Why,  he's  disconsolate,  you  little 
wretch !" 

Virginia,  not  used  to  such  outspoken  methods,  flushed 
vividly.  Then,  her  deep  resentment  against  Giles  making 
itself  heard : 

"I  don't  believe  he  ever  really  cared  for  any  one  but 
himself,"  she  said,  with  the  vindictiveness  of  a  frank  child. 


FROM   A   CLEAR   SKY 


Lady  Warrenden  laughed  with  real  delight.  She  had 
found  out  just  what  she  wanted  to  know.  Virginia's  re- 
fusal of  Giles  was  no  bit  of  girlish  shyness,  already  re- 
pented of,  but  the  sheer,  instinctive  shrinking  of  a  young 
creature  from  a  cold-blooded  egotist. 

"Yon  dear  thing,"  she  cooed  with  a  greater  measure  of 
sincerity.  "Well,  as  your  father  isn't  near  enough  to 
hear  me,  I  must  confess  that  I  never  had  much  use  for 
cousin  Giles,  whom  he  sets  such  store  by.  I  know  he's 
clever  and  all  that,  but  a  prig's  a  prig,  and  I've  no  use 
for  them,  and  neither  have  you,  I  see.  And  who  is  this 
nice  little  lady?"  putting  up  her  long-handled  glasses. 

This  nice  little  lady  was  Miss  Creighton,  trim  and 
serene  in  her  plain  gray  linen  dress. 

The  Bluff  House  staff  was  trained  to  meet  emergencies, 
and  after  a  few  orders  given  could  be  left  to  itself  while 
its  mistress  obeyed,  without  questions,  Dorval's  hint  that 
her  presence  was  needed  by  Virginia. 

"Well,  at  any  rate  she's  not  the  girl's  mother.  Marcus 
always  had  better  taste  than  that,"  Lady  Warrenden  in- 
wardly decided  after  one  glance  at  the  ugly,  wistful  iace. 

"And  so  you  have  a  chaperon  to  protect  you  against 
the  wiles  of  dangerous  bachelors  like  Mr.  Dorval,"  she 
jested,  with  her  usual  good  taste. 

"But  I  suppose  you  have  young  men  about,  too?  I 
think  cousin  Giles  spoke  of  a  party  ?  Where  are  they  ?" 
she  asked,  as  though  they  might  be  hidden  under  the  sofa. 

The  best  thing,  she  thought,  that  could  happen  now, 
would  be  to  see  the  girl  safely  married  in  Canada. 

Again  Dorval  took  the  answer  on  himself,  aj  he 
lounged  against  the  rail  before  the  seated  women.  It 
was  giving  him  great  joy  to  fence  with  this  lady's  ques- 
tions. 

"Yoa  should  have  come  a  fortnight  earlier    if   you 


249 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

wanted  to  see  our  gilded  youth.  Now  that  the  fishing 
season  is  over  they've  all  been  taken  away  in  cold  stor- 
age like  the  salmon." 

Lady  Warrenden,  with  a  way  of  hers,  caught  at  the 
one  fact  that  personally  concerned  her. 

"Oh,  the  fishing  season's  over,  is  it?"  she  said.  Then 
turning  to  Virginia :  "Then,  I  daresay  your  father  will 
be  ready  to  come  on  to  Anticosti  with  us,  to-morrow  or 
next  day,  won't  he  ?  If  he  doesn't  come  back  to-night  it 
would  be  a  great  joke  to  carry  you  off  in  his  place, 
wouldn't  it?" 

Virginia  caught  a  quick  glance  of  alarm  interchanged 
between  Dorval  and  Miss  Creighton,  and  a  new  spirit 
of  perversity  awoke  in  her.  Why  did  they  all  seem  to 
know  more  of  her  affairs  than  she  did  herself  ? 

"Oh,  would  you  really?  I've  never  been  there  yet," 
she  breathed  enthusiastically.  "I  could  get  my  things  to- 
gether in  half  an  hour,  couldn't  I,  Marraine?" 

Miss  Creighton's  feminine  intuition  had  lost  no  time 
in  appraising  their  guests,  and  she  felt  as  though  she 
were  being  asked  to  thrust  her  pet  lamb  into  a  tigress' 
den. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  daresay  you  could,"  she  wavered,  with 
appealing  eyes  on  Dorval ;  "but  do  you  think  your 
father  would  care  for  you  to  go  away  without  hi»  con- 
sent?" 

Lady  Warrenden  put  up  her  chin  with  a  touch  of  the 
grande  dame  manner  she  kept  in  reserve  behind  the  more 
up-to-date,  hail-fellow-well-met-ship  she  affected. 

"I'm  sure  Mr.  Holbeach  would  be  quite  willing  to  trust 
her  to  his  oldest  friend,"  she  began,  when  Dorval  turned 
from  staring  seaward,  to  face  her  with  a  smile  that  held 
a  reserve  of  triumph. 

"Fortunately,  he  can  settle  that  for  himself,"  he  said, 


II! 


250 


msmmmm^WM7 


FROM   A    CLEAR    SKY 


for  there's  the  Wenonah  creeping  round  Cap  Rouge. 
The  wind  is  light,  but  he  should  be  here  in  an  hour  or 
so.  I  expect  he  was  afraid  of  being  becalmed  if  he 
stayed  out." 

He  had  his  reward  for  his  morning's  exertions  in  the 
flicker  of  startled  fear  that  he  caught  in  Lady  Warren- 
den's  violet  eyes,  before  she  pronounced  her  delight 
in  his  news. 

He  saw  that  the  visitor  was  not  quite  so  sure  of  her 
welcome  as  she  had  implied,  and  he  guessed  that  the 
cause  of  this  visitation  had  been  the  dread  of  a  lost 
sovereignty.  These  theories  were  confirmed  as  he  heard 
the  lady  say  hurriedly  to  Virginia : 

"Do  you  know,  my  dear,  I  think  I'll  ask  you  to  give 
me  a  bed  to-night  and  to  send  on  board  for  my  maid  and 
my  things.  It  would  be  a  change  from  being  cramped  up 
in  a  cabin,  and  I'm  sure  the  others  wouldn't  mind,  would 
they,  Clarice?" 

The  last  words  were  addressed  to  her  friend,  who  had 
strolled  toward  them,  the  little  man  in  tow. 

"Oh,  dear,  no.  I  shouldn't  think  sol  But  we're  not 
going  to  wait  lunch  for  Mr.  Holbeach,  are  we?  It's 
nearly  one  now,  and  that  boat  with  the  long  name  is  still 
nothing  but  a  white  speck.  Toby  and  I  want  to  get  back 
on  board  before  the  others  go  oflf  anywhere." 

This  speech  was  not  over-polite,  but  then,  Mrs.  Darcy- 
Huyster  was  finding  things  slow.  The  dark,  good-look- 
ing man  didn't  seem  to  have  any  attention  to  spare  for 
her,  and  she  knew  that  the  one  woman  left  on  the  yacht 
was  having  her  mnings  with  its  master. 

"Well,  I  declare!  What  manners!"  commented  Lady 
Warrenden  lightly,  thereby  wording  Virginia's  involun- 
tary thought.  The  latter  looked  in  ,ip|)cal  at  Miss 
Creighton,  but  as  that  lady  maintained  a  discreet  silence, 
251 


wmmm 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


'J. 


she  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  say  as  cheerfully  as  pos- 
sible : 

"Oh,  we  never  wait  for  father  when  he's  out  sailing! 
I  think  lunch  will  be  ready  at  one,  won't  it,  Marraine?" 
"Yes,  dear,"  was  the  placid  answer. 
"But,  you  naughty  child,  you  never  told  me  if  you'd 
give  me  a  bed  to  rest  my  poor  bones  in,"  said  Lady  War- 
renden,  as  pathetically  as  might  be. 

"You  sound  quite  Shakespearean— 'an  old  man  weary 
with  the  cares  of  state'— only  in  your  case  it's  hardly  the 
cares  of  state—"  put  in  Mrs.  Darcy-Huyster,  but  her 
friend  took  no  notice  of  the  gibe. 

"Oh,  of  course,  we'd  love  to  have  you!  How  sur- 
prised father  will  be  I"  Virginia  exulted,  jubilant  at  the 
thought  of  her  successful  hostesship.  Two,  at  least,  of 
her  hearers  agreed  with  her  most  emphatically. 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  later  when  Holbeach, 
strolling  up  from  the  yacht,  at  peace  with  all  the  world, 
came  in  sight  of  the  after-luncheon  group  on  the  veranda, 
and  realized,  with  a  gasp  and  muttered  word,  the  in- 
vasion of  which  he  was  the  victim. 

Lulled  into  idle  serenity  by  his  sojourn  in  the  shining 
outer  spaces,  he  had  been  anticipating  an  afternoon 
lounge  in  a  big  chair  on  the  shady  veranda,  his  day's 
letters  and  papers  on  the  table  beside  him,  Virginia  with 
the  dogs  somewfcere  within  sight.  What  a  change  was 
here! 

He  had  had  no  warning  or  hint  of  what  was  about  to 
befall  him.  On  passing  the  American  yacht  that  morn- 
ing, he  had,  as  a  matter  of  course,  looked  up  the  owner's 
flag  and  club,  but  the  French  name,  belonging  to  a  well- 
known  New  York  yacht  club,  only  meant  a  man  met 
casually  at  Cannes,  and  he  had  given  it  no  further 
thought. 

252 


8te''^^?<.  ■rmmm^M 


FROM    A   CLEAR   SKY 


This  apparition,  on  the  contrary,  meant  a  great  deal 
to  him.  As  without  any  perceptible  pause  he  came  for- 
ward, he  took  in  every  detail  of  the  grouping  at  a  glance, 
and  his  face  hardened  for  the  fray. 

He  marked  the  admiring  interest  that  lit  Virginia's 
face  as  she  hovered  by  the  deep  chair  where  Lady  War- 
renden  lounged  in  lazy  grace.  And  Violet  was  smiling  at 
her,  playing  off,  for  the  girl's  subjection,  the  pretty  turns 
he  knew  so  well.  So  that  was  her  game,  was  it  ?  Well, 
fortunately,  most  games  can  be  played  by  two,  and  he 
meant  presently  to  have  a  hand  in  this  one  himself. 

Dorval's  horses  were  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Darcy- 
Huyster,  that  lady  for  whom  he,  Holbeach,  had  nlways 
entertained  so  deep  an  antipathy,  stood  near,  h  her 
squire-at-arms,  as  though  ready  to  go.  How  i  .rval 
came  to  be  in  the  affair  he  had  no  time  to  wonder,  but, 
somehow,  he  was  glad  to  see  him  there,  not  far  from 
Virginia. 

He  knew  it  for  an  old  trick  of  Lady  Warrenden's  when 
uncertain  of  her  ground,  to  rush  in  with  the  first  word,  a 
trick  he  recognized  as  she  liurried  to  speak  before  he 
could  utter  any  greeting : 

"Brave  man  1  He  faces  an  invasion  like  the  old  guard 
at  Waterloo  I" 

The  full  battery  of  her  eyes  and  smile  was  on  him, 
though  she  never  moved  her  head  from  its  rest  against 
the  cushions. 

Mrs.  Darcy-Huyster's  elfish  glance  swept  him  with  a 
knowledge  of  his  discomfiture,  as  she  chimed  in  almost 
simultaneously  with  her  friend: 

"We  can  bless  our  stars  we're  on  the  point  of  decamp- 
ing. He  can't  pick  a  quarrel  with  us,  can  he,  Toby? 
We'll  leave  Violet  as  a  peace-maker  till  to-morrow,  or 
rather  as  a  hostage  for  you  and  your  girl." 

-S3 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

Holbeach  had  by  now  reached  the  hand-shaking  stage, 
which  he  accomplished  with  all  possible  suavity. 

"One  at  a  time,  please,"  he  protested.  "So  this  was 
what  the  smart  yacht  meant !  And  to  think  that  I  never 
guessed  when  I  passed  it  this  morning !  And  Lady  War- 
renden  is  a  hostage,  is  she?" 

He  had  reached  Virginia,  and  as  he  laid  a  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  his  always  quiet  voice  took  on  a  new  gentle- 
ness: 

"Well,  little  girl,  what  have  you  to  do  with  all  this? 
Have  you  upheld  the  family  credit  with  these  gay  folk  ?" 

Two,  at  least,  of  his  listeners  noted,  but  with  widely 
varying  feelings,  his  punctilious  identification  of  the  girl 
with  himself  and  his  family. 

Lady  Warrenden  gave  no  sign  of  mortification  as  she 
caught  up  the  question. 

"Oh,  she's  been  a  dear,  from  the  first  sight  of  us.  She 
actually  managed  to  seem  delighted  with  it.  Whatever 
do  you  mean  by  hiding  such  a  gem  in  the  woods  ?  You'll 
have  to  let  me  bring  her  out  next  season." 

Holbeach  kept  a  serene  front  to  this  attack. 

"All  in  good  time.  She  has  time  on  her  side,  you  see, 
and  doesn't  need  to  grab  at  the  fruit  on  the  bough,  as 
you  and  I  must." 

"A  bit  heavy-handed,"  Dorval  made  inward  com- 
ment. 

"Besides,"  he  went  on,  "the  child's  a  good  Canadian, 
and  would  rather  be  on  a  salmon-stream  or  a  yacht  than 
in  a  stuffy  London  drawing-room,  eh,  little  girl  ?" 

Did  Virginia  recognize  the  appeal  in  his  voice  as  she 
made  loyal  answer  ? 

"Yes,  father." 

"Yes,  father,"  mimicked  Lady  Warrenden,  emphasizing 
an  undertone  of  resignation,  that  had  been  barely  per- 

2S4 


iTfTT^iier' 


FROM   A   CLEAR  SKY 


ceptible.  Virginia,  with  her  heart  in  a  mining-camp  in 
the  wilds  of  northern  Quebec,  had  few  girlish  hankerings 
after  the  big  world  she  had  only  seen  from  the  outside  of 
hotels  and  trains,  but  the  longing  to  be  recognized  by  her 
father  had  been  roused  to  fresh  life. 

"It  strikes  me  there's  a  dubious  sound  in  that,"  Lady 
Warrenden  jeered. 

It  was  Dorval  who  came  to  the  rescue. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hurry  you,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  fJarcy-Huy- 
ster,  "but  the  ponies  don't  like  standing — the  flies  bother 
them  so." 

"And  you're  dying  to  g^t  us  off  your  hands,"  that  lady 
retorted.  "Well,  you've  been  an  angelic  martyr.  Now 
it's  Mr.  Holbeach's  turn.  Come,  Toby!  See  you  to- 
morrow, young  woman,  with  your  bags.  Hope  you're 
not  sea-sick."  Without  waiting  for  an  answer  the  lively 
dame  scrambled  in,  and  Dorval  promptly  drove  off. 

Holbeach  looked  after  her  with  slightly  veiled  disgust. 

"If  she  hopes  to  see  Virginia  sea-sick,  she'll  be  dis- 
appointed," he  commented.  Then,  turning  to  face  Lady 
Warrenden,  "But  where  does  she  want  us  to  go  ?" 

"Oh,  we're  determined  to  carry  you  off  on  our  cruise 
to  Anticosti,"  the  latter  made  answer,  as  casually  as  if 
she  were  sure  of  the  response. 

"And  what  does  your  host  say  to  that  ?"  Holbeach  de- 
manded sardonically. 

"Oh,  he  was  quite  keen  on  our  fetching  you.  He  said 
it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  have  someone  who  knows  the 
island." 

"A  pilot,  in  fact.  I'm  sorry,  but  I  have  no  certifi- 
cate." 

"Nonsense.  Of  course  we've  got  a  man  for  that. 
You'll  come,  won't  you  ?  Surely  the  child  needs  a  sight 
of  people  now  and  then."    Then,  with  a  smile  at  Vir- 

•ii 


1 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

gmia :    '  Do,  dear,  pick  me  some  of  those  sweet-peas  to 
wear.    I  haven't  seen  a  fresh  flower  for  a  week." 

The  girl  obeyed,  though  longing  to  know  what  her 
father  would  say. 

Apparently  unobservant  of  his  silence,  his  companion 
talked  on : 

"After  all,  yachtiri-'  „.  .1  gets  monotonous.  I  believe 
if  you  don't  come  v  1'  us,  I'll  stay  on  here  for  a  bit.  I 
might  go  back  by  th<  easy  land  way  .  .  ." 

"You're  beyond  the  region  of  easy  land  ways  here," 
Holbeach  aniuunced,  with  a  visible  touch  of  satisfaction. 
"You  would  either  have  to  go  to  Dalhousie  in  the  dirty, 
and  not  over-safe  old  mail-boat,  or  else  take  the  crowded 
fortnightly  tourist  steamer  up  to  Quebec.  I'd  advise  you 
to  stick  to  the  yacht." 

Virginia,  down  among  the  flowers,  thought  she  caught 
a  vexed  laugh  and  a  protest : 

"You're  certainly  not  a  very  pressing  host !" 

"Did  you  expect  me  to  be  ?" 

She  distinctly  heard  the  low-toned  rejoinder,  and  her 
heart  sank  with  the  freshly  aroused  sense  of  surround- 
ing mysteries. 

She  loitered  farther  on,  and  when  she  came  back  her 
father  was  smoothly  discoursing  on  the  local  features  of 
the  landscape  to  a  somewhat  sulky-looking  listener. 


CHAPTER   XXV 


LADY  WARRENDEN'S  RETREAT 

VIRGINIA  not  sure  whether  lier  presence  was 
desired,  would  have  taken  advantage  of  a 
stroll  through  the  grounds  to  slip  away  before 
tea  time,  but  as  she  dropped  behind,  her  father 
ealled  her  back  and  kept  her  beside  him,  with  an  arm 
through  hers. 

Over  the  tea-cups  on  the  veranda.  Lady  Warrenden 
rallied  from  her  temporary  depression,  making  another 
determined  assault  on  Virginia. 

The  splendors  of  the  London  season,  the  out-door 
pleasures  of  a  Cannes  or  Cairo  winter  were  dangled  be- 
fore the  girl,  who  listened  with  a  sore  heart.  Why 
should  a  stranger  tell  her  of  things  which  her  father 
could  have  given  her  if  he  chose  ? 

Was  it  possible  that  Lady  Warrenden  knew  the  reason 
of  her  seclusion,  and  was  mischievously  amusing  herself 
with  suggestions  that  could  never  materialize? 

Holbeach's  quiet  face,  as  he  lounged  in  a  deep  chair, 
smoking,  ofiered  no  solution  to  these  problems.  His 
stillness  may  have  invited  Lady  Warrenden  to  mischief, 
for  she  made  a  direct  attempt  to  draw  him  into  the 
talk. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  sooner  or  later  to  let  her  see 
something  of  the  world?"  she  demanded  impatiently. 
He  sat  apparently  absorbed  in  balancing  a  biscuit  on  the 
fox-terrier's  nose,  as  he  answered : 

aS7 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Oh,  she's  something  of  a  traveler  already.  Let's  see, 
Virginia,  where  all  have  you  been?" 

"Vou  know,  father,  Miss  Creighton  and  I  were  two 
winters  in  Florida  and  California;  besides  that  trip  to 
the  West  Indies,"  Virginia  said,  wondering  why  her 
father  could  not  have  told  that  himself. 

"That's  not  a  bad  bit  of  the  world  for  nineteen,  besides 
New  York  and  Montreal,  is  it?"  he  asked. 

Lady  Warrenden  looked  unimpressed. 

"But  all  en  touriste,  eh  ?  Yes,  it's  the  world  in  one  way, 
and  not  in  another—geographically,  but  not  socially. 
Now,  if  you'd  ferive  me  the  chance,  I  could  show  her 
something  very  different." 

"I've  no  doubt,"  was  Holbeach's  polite  retort,  in  which 
she  alone  read  the  sarcasm. 

Undismayed,  she  went  on : 

"I'm  going  to  see  something  of  American  autumn  life, 
staying  with  people  about  the  country.  Then  I'll  sail 
for  home  early  in  October.  Suppose  you  let  me  take  her 
with  me." 

Helpless  at  feeling  her  future  thus  played  battledore 
and  shuttlecock  with,  Virginia  scanned  each  face  closely, 
but  could  gain  little  satisfaction. 

Still  trifling  with  the  dog,  Holbeach  answered  tran- 
quilly : 

"Thanks,  but  when  Virginia  goes  to  England,  it's  with 
me.  We're  rather  d- inking,  she  and  I,  of  starting  off 
around  the  world  this  autumn,  just  by  our  two  selves. 
She  wants  to  buy  some  kimono  things  in  Japan,  and  then 
she  would  have  a  glimpse  of  the  big  world  in  India.  The 
Viceroy's  by  way  of  being  a  cousin  of  ours,  you  know." 

A  duller  person  than  Lady  Warrenden  would  have 
noted  the  girl's  amazement,  but  she  knew  too  well  what 
lay  behind  Holbeach's  quietude,  to  venture  more  than : 
258 


LADY  WARRENDEN'S   RETREAT 


1 

I 


"My  poor  little  scheme  looks  very  meager  beside  that." 
Then  dropping  the  subject:  "But  aren't  you  going  to 
show  me  'round  your  domain?  I  suppose  you  have  a 
motor-car  here." 

"No,  they're  not  worth  the  trouble  they  give  on  these 
rough  roads  and  steep  hills.  I'll  give  you  a  turn  in  the 
buckboard,  if  you  like." 

"What's  that?  Like  the  thing  we  came  in?  All  right. 
Only  net  for  long,  for  I  must  have  a  nap  before  dinner. 
This  strong  air  makes  me  so  sleepy,"  and  she  yawned 
corroboratively.  Privately,  she  was  wondering  how  her 
hair  and  complexion  had  stood  the  assaults  of  sun  and 
wind,  and  longing  for  a  half-hour  of  her  maids  ministra- 
tions. This  was  not  the  moment  in  which  to  weaken  her 
charm  in  Holbeach's  eyes. 

"Yes,  it's  apt  to  make  strangers  sleepy,"  he  suavely 
agreed. 

"Virginia,  run  and  tell  Louis  to  get  the  trap  ready." 

Lady  Warrenden  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her  arm. 

"And  when  they  send  my  maid  up,  you'll  install  her, 

dear?" 

Virginia,  looking  into  the  still  beautiful  face,  intuitively 
read  there  some  sign  of  defeat  and  warmed  with  generous 
pity. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said.  "You  shall  have  the  south  spare- 
room.    That's  pleasantest,  isn't  it,  father?" 

"That  belongs  to  yours  and  Miss  Creighton's  depart- 
ment," he  said,  as  he  lit  a  cigarette. 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  any  room's  lovely,"  cooed  Lady  War- 
renden. "Only  think,  child,  of  your  father  always  pre- 
tending to  me  that  he  camped  out  here  in  a  hovel  in  the 
woods." 

"We  can  supply  you  with  a  hovel  in  the  woods,  as  well. 
What  would  she  think  of  Owl's  Nest,  Virginia?" 

259 


MKIOCOPY   nsOlUTION   TBI  CHADT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


13.2 


US 


1^ 


1^  11^  1^ 


^  /APPLIED  IIVMGE     Inc 

^S*^  165 J  East  Moin  Strmt 

C.S  RochMUr.  Naw  York         14609       USA 

^S  (^'6)  *a3  -  0300  -  Phone 

^S  ("6)  288-  5989  -  Fok 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


In  her  new  partisanship  the  girl  declined  to  see  the  in- 
congruity of  the  association. 

"I'm  sure  she  couldn't  help  loving  it!"  she  protested 
gayly. 

Their  guest  was  on  the  alert. 

"Is  that  the  haunt  of  mosquitoes  and  salmon  I  was 
warned  off  from?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  that's  my  fishing-camp.  You'd  better  hurry 
Louis,  Virginia,"  and  Holbeach  strolled  to  the  end  of  the 
veranda,  as  though  to  end  the  subject. 

Virginia  stood  on  the  steps  watching  the  buckboard 
drive  off,  with  a  great  sense  of  temporary  relief.  She 
was  tired  from  the  unusual  effort  demanded  of  her, 
puzzled  and  disheartened  by  the  consciousness  of  un- 
known and  contending  forces  around  her.  The  shelter 
of  her  own  room  was  welcome,  but  as  soon  as  she  had 
arrayed  herself  more  daintily,  she  fled  to  the  assured 
solitude  of  outdoors. 

At  the  foot  of  the  boat-house  steps  there  was  a  sharp 
angle  of  overhanging  bluff,  where  the  afternoon  shade 
was  coolest,  the  breeze  from  the  Bay  freshest.  Here  she 
stretched  herself  on  a  slope  of  sand,  still  warm  from  the 
morning  sun.  She  had  meant  to  think,  think  hard  and 
probably  unhappily,  but  Nature's  lullaby  was  too  strong 
for  her.  The  ripplets  of  the  rising  tide  crooned  on  the 
shingle,  the  cormorants  croaked  as  they  flapped  heavily 
from  pole  to  pole,  the  sails  of  a  schooner  beat  like  drums 
as  she  came  around  on  her  tack,  but  all  the  sounds  melted 
into  each  other  and  then  into  silence,  as  she  slept. 

Presently  dreams  disturbed  her,  dreams  of  trouble  and 
of  her  father's  voice,  with  an  unaccustomed  anger  in  it. 
Then  with  a  start  came  distinct  words,  and  she  knew  that 
he  and  his  guesi  were  on  the  platform  almost  immediately 
overhead. 

260 


LADY   WARRENDEN'S   RETREAT 


"I  should  like  to  impress  upon  you  your  mistake  m 
thinking  I  have  not  valued  the  child  because  I  kept  her 
hidden  away  here.  On  the  contrary,  I  set  too  high  a 
store  on  her  to  risk  bringing  her  into  contact  with  the 
people  I  had  chosen  as  associates." 

Virginia  realized  that  her  father  spoke  of  her,  and  each 

word  dropped  into  her  heart  to  be  stored  as  a  lifelong 

treasure,  even  while  she  shivered  with  a  vague  fear  at 

the  steel-like  hardness  in  a  voice  she  only  knew  as  gentle. 

.  "Meaning  me?"  came  from  Lady  Warrenden. 

"If  you  choose  to  put  it  so,"  was  the  dry  retort. 

"And  it  Giles  had  married  her,  was  she  still  to  be  kept 
in  a  glass  case  ?"  ^, 

"She  would  have  taken  her  proper  place  m  my  home. 

"And  in  such  an  Arcadian  idyl,  where  would  I  have 

come  in  ?"  _     ^ 

"That  is  hardly  worth  considering,  as  he  didn  t  prove 
man  enough  to  win  her,  but,  if  you  care  to  know,  I  shall 
not  leave  here  again  without  giving  her  the  choice  of  com- 
ing to  England  and  being  introduced  as  my  daughter." 

There  was  a  pause,  as  though  his  hearer  were  digesting 
this  information.  She  was  subtle  enough  to  guess  that 
she  herself  had  shaped  this  resolution  within  the  hour, 
and  the  knowledge  could  not  have  been  pleasant. 

"It  won't  be  easy,"  she  said  at  last,  with  the  strain  of 
forced  composure. 

"Nothing  worth  doing  ever  is  easy.  I  was  a  coward. 
or  I  should  have  done  this  long  ago.  It  may  be  too  late 
now,"  he  added  gloomily,  and,  alone  in  her  corner,  Vir- 
ginia flushed  guiltily,  as  though  he  were  reading  her 
thoughts. 

"You  don't  think  she'd  hesitate?"  came  the  incredu- 
lous question. 
"God  knows." 

261 


1 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Does  she  g^ess — how  things  are,  I  mean?" 

"I  think  so — lately." 

"Poor  child !" 

There  was  an  evanescent  touch  of  womanly  softness  in 
the  words,  but  it  only  seemed  to  irritate  Holbeach. 

"Thanks,  but  I  hope  she  doesn't  need  your  pity.  She 
has,  at  least,  had  a  happy  childhood." 

"Yes,  but  it's  after  that  matters." 

On  the  words  came  another  pause,  in  which  Virginia 
caught  her  breath,  for  what  was  to  follow.  It  came  in 
Lady  Warrenden's  most  seductive  tones : 

"If  she  does  come,  you'll  let  me  have  her  sometimes, 
won't  you?  Really,  Marcus,  I  like  the  child,  and  you 
surely  know  I'd  take  care  to  do  her  no  harm." 

What  harm  could  she  do  her,  and  why  need  her  as- 
surance be  so  earnest,  the  girl  wondered. 

Holbeach,  though,  seemed  to  be  in  no  uncertainty. 

"You  could  not  prevent  such  a  false  position  doing  her 
harm.  You  know,  Violet,  I  don't  want  to  be  unneces- 
sarily frank,  but  you  must  see  that  I  should  be  a  weaker 
fool  than  you  take  me  for,  if  I  could  not  keep  my 
daughter  from  .  .  ." 

"From  such  as  me  1    Thank  you." 

There  was  no  silvery  note  in  the  laugh  that  followed 
the  words.  There  was  a  silence  before  Holbeach  spoke, 
with  the  determination  of  one  facing  a  hard  task. 

"You  must  have  known  that  I  never  wished  or  intended 
you  to  come  here,  and  it  was  treachery  to  me  to  do  it  in 
such  a  fashion  and  with  such  people.  Of  course,  it  was 
Giles  who  put  you  on  my  track." 

"He  told  me,  yes.  Well,  I  suppose  you  want  me  to 
go?"  was  the  sullen  response. 

"Yes.  You  can  go  back  to  the  yacht  without  us  to- 
morrow morning." 

262 


LADY  WARRENDEN'S   RETREAT 


"Oh,  I  can  go  to-night.  Pray,  don't  stand  on  any 
ceremony,"  and  it  seemed  to  Virginia  that  with  her  reck- 
less laugh  sht  had  risen  and  moved  across  the  platform. 

"Hushl"  came  Holbeach's  quick  caution,  "here's  my 
man  coming  to  look  for  me,  and — yes,  it's  your  host  who's 
following  him." 

"Let's  hope,  he,  at  least,  is  anxious  for  my  society." 

Those  were  the  last  words  Virginia  heard  plainly  as 
the  steps  receded,  though  she  could  mark  the  greetings 
of  a  sharper  foreign  voice,  mingled  with  Lady  War- 
renden's  pretty  outcry. 

Then,  with  solitude  there  came  to  her  that  realization 
of  her  first  contact  with  the  world's  sin  and  misery,  a 
realization  which  marks  an  epoch  in  a  young  life. 

Ignorant  as  she  was  of  the  world,  the  knowledge  of 
what  this  woman  had  been  to  her  father  made  her  face 
bum.  That  momentarily  kindly  thought,  expressed  in 
the  "Poor  child  I"  made  the  'n  keener,  linking  the  care- 
less pleasure-seeker  with  i.  :  mother's  fate.  Had  they 
both  been  equally  wronged  and,  worst  thought  of  all,  was 
he  now  cruel  to  this  woman  on  her  own  account  ?  Was 
he  giving  up  the  companion  of  years  to  do  his  child  a 
tardy  justice? 

It  w"<]ld  not  be  easy,  he  said,  and  he  had  been  cowardly 
not  t  It  before.  Why,  if  it  were  to  cost  him  so  much, 
should  iie  want  her  at  all,  now  when  it  must  spoil  her 
life  as  well  as  his  own? 

"Oh,  Jack,  Jack,"  she  sobbed  at  last,  "why  can't  you 
take  me  oflf  to  the  woods  with  you,  away  from  all  this 
cruel  world,  where  I  don't  seem  to  have  any  right  place?" 

For  awhile  she  lay  there  on  the  shingle,  sobbing  with 
the  utter  abandonment  of  youth  over  its  first  sorrows. 
But  Virginia's  was  too  steadfast  a  nature  to  allow  her 
to  shirk  her  responsibilities  for  long. 
u  263 


1   " 


i 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

Perhaps  at  this  very  moment  her  father  might  be  look- 
ing for  her  to  play  the  hostess,  and  feeling  that  she  had 
carelessly  failed  him  at  the  crucial  moment. 

Whatever  he  may  have  done  in  the  past,  to-day  he  had 
been  loyal  to  her,  and  instead  of  the  help  she  should  have 
given  him  in  return,  here  she  was  with  swollen  eyes  and 
tear-stained  face,  of  no  use  to  anybody. 

With  a  startled  glance  around  on  the  lengthening 
shadows  and  deepening  tints  of  coming  evening,  she 
jumped  up,  and  dipping  her  handkerchief  in  the  water, 
sponged  her  face  with  it. 

There  was  lookhig-glass  and  comb  in  the  dressing 
cabin  at  the  head  of  the  steps,  and  running  lightly  up, 
she  drew  a  sharp  breath  at  sight  of  a  long  tan  glove  ly- 
ing on  the  platform  floor,  sole  relic  of  the  late  fray.  She 
caught  it  up  with  intention  to  restore  it  to  its  owner,  and 
then  realized  that  it  m.ght  be  somewhat  awkward  to 
account  for  her  presence  there.  Her  father  was  sure  in 
the  mere  course  of  conversatiot ,  to  ask  her  where  she  had 
been,  and  what  should  she  say?  For  a  second  she 
thought  of  saying  she  had  been  out  in  her  canoe,  but  she 
had  never  told  him  anything  but  the  truth,  and  why 
should  she  begin  now? 

If  any  of  them  asked  her  she  would  just  say  that  she 
had  fallen  asleep  on  the  shore.  Her  home  folk  knew 
that  such  outdoor  siestas  were  no  unusual  thing  with  her, 
especially  after  a  bath. 

She  peered  anxiously  at  her  tragic  face  in  the  glass, 
but  the  tears  of  nineteen  leave  few  traces,  and  by  the 
time  that  she  had  rearranged  her  hair,  her  heavy-eyed 
pallor  only  'ent  a  new  depth  of  meaning  to  her  face. 

Slowly  she  went  up  the  woodland  path  that  her  feet 
had  always  trodden  so  lightly.    Crossing  the  stile  and 
die  road,  she  had  her  first  glimpse  of  the  house. 
264 


LADY  WARRENDEN'S   RETREAT 


A  stillness  that  seemed  ominous  brooded  over  it.  No 
sound  of  voices  anywhere,  no  figures  in  the  chairs  on  the 
veranda. 

Everyone  must  have  gfone  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  if 
so  she  might  get  to  her  own  room  unobser\ed.  There, 
Miss  Creighton  would  be  sure  to  be  on  the  lookout  for 
her,  with  her  smart  dress  ready  to  put  on.  Her  lips 
quivered  at  the  thought,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  did  not  take  that  faithful  care  as  a  matter  of  course. 

For  a  moment  she  thought  of  a  rush  up  a  side  path  to 
a  back  door,  then  a  new  sense  of  pride  prevented  her. 
The  time  was  past  for  any  such  childish  tricks.  A 
rapturous  yap  and  rush  of  the  fox-terrier  destroyed  her 
last  hopes  of  secrecy.  At  the  sound,  Miss  Creighton  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway,  as  though  she  had  been  on  the 
watch.  Instead  of  the  black  silk  and  sequins  of  her  com- 
pany dinner  dress,  the  little  lady  was  ftill  in  her  after- 
noon attire. 

"You're  not  dressed  I"  Virginia  began,  as  scon  as  she 
was  near  enough  to  speak  in  a  careful  undertone. 
"Then  I  shan't  be  late  after  all." 

There  was  no  caution  in  Miss  Creighton's  answering 
voice,  though  her  wistful  eyes  searched  the  girl's  face 
anxiously. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  late  for,  dear.  The  man  who 
owns  the  yacht  drove  up  an  hour  ago  to  say  that  he  had 
decided  to  sail  for  Anticosti  at  daylight,  and  everyone 
must  be  on  board  to-night.  As  your  father  refused  his 
invitation  for  you  and  himself— you're  not  disappointed, 
dear  ?" 

"No,  Marraine,  I  didn't  want  to  go— but  Lady  Warren- 
den?" 

"She  thought  she  might  as  well  go  back  with  him. 
She  was  sorry  not  to  say  good-bye  to  you,  and  left  all 
265 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


sorts  of  messages.    Louis  hunted  everywhere  for  you, 
dear."  ,,   . 

"I  fell  asleep  down  on  the  beach.  I'm  sorry  »f  it 
seemed  rude— but  father?" 

The  two  avoided  each  other's  eyes  at  the  question  and 
answer. 

"He  went  down  with  them  to  call  on  some  lady  on 
board.  He  said  not  to  wait  dinner  for  him  if  he  were 
late.    He  might  have  supper  with  Mr.  Dorval." 

Virginia  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief.  It  seemed  the 
best  thing  that  could  happen  just  then  to  be  alone  with 
that  peacefully  familiar  presence. 

"It's  after  seven  now,  so  you'd  better  come  in  as  you 
are.    You  must  be  tired,  child." 

"Yes,  I'm  tired.  It's  nice  to  be  just  by  our  two  selves, 
Marraine,"  and  as  they  entered  the  house,  she  drew  her 
arm  through  the  other's  with  an  unwonted  eflfu- 
siveness. 

"Yes,  dear,"  was  all  Miss  Creighton  answered,  but  her 
eyes  dimmed  with  unshed  tears.  Nothing  more  passed 
between  them  on  the  subject  of  their  visitors;  indeed, 
Virginia  was  unusually  silent  all  the  evening  and  went  to 

bed  early.  .     n-  i. 

She  was  lying  staring  with  sleepless  eyes  at  the  flick- 
ering streamers  of  northern  lights  seen  through  her 
window,  when  she  heard  her  father  ceane  upstairs  and 
pause  by  her  half-open  door. 
"Awake,  little  girl?"  he  asked  softly. 
"Yes,  father,"  she  answered,  stilling  a  tremor  in  her 

voice. 

He  did  not  come  in,  but  spoke  from  where  he  stood: 

"I  dropped  in  to  see  Dorval  on  the  way  home.    He's 

}ast  had  a  wire  from  Noel,  who  had  made  a  rush  down 

to  St.  Maude*,  to  take  out  their  rights,  leaving  Jack  on 

266 


LADY   WARRENDEN'S   RETREAT 

guard.  Virginia  Mine  is  all  marked  c  it  he  says,  and  is 
going  to  be  a  first-class  affair." 

The  kindness  of  his  voice,  the  relief  of  the  tidings, 
swept  over  the  girl  like  a  great  wave  of  light,  scattering 
the  day's  shadows  before  it. 

"Oh,  how  splendid  I"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,  it's  fine. 

"Dorval  and  I  are  sUrting  for  Owl's  Nest  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning,  before  you're  down,  most  likely. 
I  want  to  plan  that  new  dining-room  and  ice-house,  and 
he  feels  like  a  holiday,  so  we'll  be  away  over  Stmday. 
Take  care  of  yourself,  child." 

"Yes,  father.    Good-bye." 

And  soon,  tired  out  by  varied  feelings,  she  was  sleep- 
ing like  a  child,  while  Marcus  Holbeach  saw  the  stars 
pale  before  he  ck>sed  his  eyes. 


*■  !! 


iil 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  SANDS  RUN  OUT 

IT  was  a  glorious  noontide,  with  the  first  hint  of 
autumn  crispness  in  the  rioting  wind  that  set  all 
the  forest  trees  whispering  and  swaying. 
Here  and  there  down  in  the  swamps  a  maple 
burned  red,  or  on  a  rocky  hillside  the  bracken  had  turned 
bronze.  Otherwise,  there  was  as  yet  no  sign  of  the 
year's  decay,  though  it  had  reached  full  fruition. 

Up  on  the  bare  slope  of  a  blueberry  barren,  where  a 
few  scattered  gray  skeleton  trunks  rising  from  the  low 
bushes  told  of  the  fires  that  had  swept  these  hills,  a  party 
of  three  sat  picnicking  on  a  group  of  rocks. 

Mrs.  LeRoy,  her  cotton  dress  girded  high,  her  man's 
cap  on  the  back  of  her  head,  sat  enthroned  on  a  rock  be- 
fore their  little  feast,  while  Virginia  and  Esther,  perched 
on  nearby  boulders,  were  munching  sandwiches  and 
hard-boiled  eggs  with  relish. 

Virginia  had  awakened  early  to  a  restless  fit.  The 
night  before  she  had  gone  to  sleep  contented  enough,  but 
morning  had  brought  her  new  fears.  Jack  was  standing 
guard  alone.  The  words  haunted  her  with  a  prevision 
of  disaster. 

She  must  see  that  telegram.  There  would  be  no  diffi- 
culty about  it,  if  only  Dorval  were  at  home,  for  she  was 
used  to  run  in  and  out  of  his  oflice,  with  the  freedom  of 
a  spoiled  child. 

But  surely  she  would  find  more  news  at  the  pink  cot- 

268 


THE   SANDS   RUN   OUT 


I 


tage.  With  th»  i*iought  she  remembered  that  to-day  was 
that  great  event  .  '  Mrs.  LeRoy's  year,  her  annual  blue- 
berry picking,  oince  they  were  children,  Esther  and  she 
had,  as  the  season  came  around,  taken  their  lunch-baskets 
and  gone  up  to  the  barrens  to  help  in  the  day's  work. 
Great  was  their  pride  when  the  baskets  were  filled  to 
overflowing.  When  Jack  was  a  boy  he  was  always  r.f 
the  party,  and  carried  home  the  heaviest  pail.  Now,  a 
stolid-faced,  half-breed  youth  was  pressed  into  the  ser- 
vice. 

The  girls  found  Mrs.  LeRoy  awaiting  them,  her  face 
alert  with  the  spirit  of  vagabondage,  while  Czar,  know- 
ing what  was  ahead,  sat  in  expectant  dignity  on  the  dooi  • 
step. 

"Well,  here  I  am,  'live  and  hearty  on  another  blue- 
berry day,"  was  her  greeting;  "an'  this  day  bein'  a  special 
celebration  of  Jack's  good  luck." 

Virginia  promptly  demanded  the  telegram. 

Yes,  Mr.  Dorval  had  sent  it  over  to  her  last  night,  or 
rather  this  morning  afore  he  went  oS,  being  one  of  those 
as  never  forgets  anybody. 

The  girl  studied  the  paper  in  silence,  finding  there 
just  what  her  father  had  said. 

Lxx>king  up,  she  met  Esther's  glance  and  offered  the 
paper  to  her.  "I've  seen  it.  Mr.  Dorval  brought  it  in 
last  evening,"  was  her  answir. 

Then  R.  s.  LeRoy  hustled  them  off  to  the  business  of 
the  day.  Now,  after  three  hours'  vork,  they  were  rest- 
ing in  friendly  comradeship,  while  a  row  of  full  baskets 
told  of  their  industry. 

The  sandwiches  end  hard-boiled  eggs  had  been  dis- 
patched, and  they  had  reached  the  crowning  delicacy  of 
the  jam-puffs  which  Mrs.  LeRoy  always  made  for  this 
festi.al. 

269 


i. 


!'    l! 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

"Well,  'twould  do  me  good  to  think  as  Jack  had  one  of 
my  jam-puffs  to-day,"  said  his  mother  dreamily. 

Esther  laughed.  "He  always  used  to  have  the  odd  one 
over,  don't  you  remember?" 

"Not  but  what  I'm  sure  he's  got  fine  eatin',  with  that 
man  Moses  along.  Most  prospectors  gets  to  be  good 
cooks,  off  by  themselves  so  much,"  went  on  Mrs.  LeRoy 
with  resolute  optimism,  pouring  out  another  cup  of  cold 
coffee  for  Virginia.  No  fires  were  allowed  up  here,  near 
the  timber  limits. 

Virginia,  perched  on  a  flat  rock,  her  fox-terrier  be- 
side her,  Czar  at  her  feet,  was  staring  out  over  the  sea 
of  forested  hills.  Where  they  sat,  the  Basin  and  village 
were  hidden  from  them,  and  they  could  see  no  sign  of 
man's  habitation  to  break  the  great  sweep  of  woods. 

"Esther,"  said  Virginia  abruptly,  "what  did  Mr.  Dorval 
think  about  the  telegram?" 

Esther  looked  up  from  peeling  a  banana. 

"Why,"  with  a  touch  of  surprise,  "he  thought  it  splen- 
did, of  course." 

"Yes,  but  what  did  he  say  about  Jack  being  on  guard?" 

"Nothing,  save  that  they  wouldn't  both  want  to  leave." 

"And  did  he  think  those  other  people  likely  to  be  about 
still?" 

"He  didn't  say  so." 

"Oh,  Esther,  how  tiresome  you  are!  What  did  he  say 
then  ?"  Virginia  demanded. 

Esther  laughed.  She  understood  her  friend's  fears 
well  enough,  but  she  was  not  going  to  acknowledge  that 
she  did. 

"Why,  he  said  that  there's  no  doubt  you're  all  going  to 
roll  in  riches,"  she  said  lightly. 

A  new  thought  came  to  Virginia. 

"What  a  pity  you're  not  in  it,  too,"  she  said. 
270 


THE    SANDS    RUN    OUT 


Esther  hesitated  before  she  answered : 

"Mr.  Dorval  offered  mother  a  share  in  his  interest  last 
night,  and  she  refused." 

Virginia  read  in  the  words  the  longing  for  larger  hori- 
lons,  a  longing  she  herself  had  never  known. 

"But  why?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.    She  has  a  horror  of  chances." 

"Your  ma's  a  wise  woman,"  put  in  Mrs.  LeRoy. 
"Many  a  man  I've  seen  spendin'  good  money  on  mines, 
but  never  yet  have  I  seen  a  man  as  was  rich  from 
one." 

In  both  girls'  present  state  of  mind,  this  idea  was 
heresy. 

"But  you  can't  help  be'  'ing  in  this  one,"  Esther  pro- 
tested. 

"I'll,  believe  in  it  when  I  see  the  money,  not  afore." 

"But  they  know  that  the  silver's  the  <.  in  quantities." 

The  old  woman  held  firm. 

"I'm  not  sayin'  as  it  isn't  there  often  enough,  an'  all 
the  same  that  don't  prevent  it  slippin'  through  their 
fingers.  Look  at  Tom  Clayton,  as  found  the  best  asbestos 
mine  in  the  Townships.  He  sold  it  for  a  song  when  he 
was  drunk,  put  the  money  intil  an  ice-cream  parlor  an' 
lost  it  all.  No,"  she  went  on  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
"many  a  prospector  as  has  found  more  nor  one  good 
mine  in  his  day  I've  seen  die  a  poor  man,  or  else  go  off 
into  the  woods  an'  never  be  heard  of  again.  I  believe 
the  Injuns  is  right,  when  they  say  there's  Spirits  in 
mines  as  calls  back  the  riches  from  them  as  carries  it 
off.  You  don't  catch  Injuns  mining.  They  know  bet- 
ter— they  leave  them  alone."  She  sat  staring  down 
gloomily  on  the  outspread  sea  of  leafage.  "Ah,"  she 
said,  "the  woods  hides  many  a  queer  thing.  They're 
dark  an'  tricky  an'  closes  'round  you  to  your  destine- 


I 


271 


I J 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

tion.    Give  me  the  sea— that,  if  it  fights  you  an'  kills 
you,  does  it  honest,  out  in  the  light  o'  day." 

The  girls  had  listened  with  sober  faces.  Both  their 
hearts  were  in  the  woods,  and  her  words  sounded  ill- 
omened.  But  Virginia's  eyes,  as  they  swept  the  hill- 
sides, were  full  of  dreamy  fascination. 

"Ah,  I  love  the  woods  that  shelter  one  like  a  big 
friendly  house.  Some  day  I'm  going  off  to  live  in  them 
always,"  she  murmured,  ending  with  a  little  smile  to  her- 
self. 

Esther  jumped  up,  scattering  egg-shells  among  the 
bushes.  "Ah,  no,"  she  said.  "I'll  camp  in  them  and 
tramp  through  them,  but  give  me  the  open  to  live  in.  Like 
Mrs.  LeRoy,  I  love  the  sea— that's  the  open  path  to  every- 
where.   And  now  let's  finish  filling  the  other  baskets." 

It  was  three  days  later  than  this  when,  in  the  warm 
evening  glow,  Virginia,  sitting  alone  on  the  veranda, 
saw  Esther  speeding  up  the  garden  path. 

How  quickly  she  came — a  mysterious  white  figure  in 
the  dusk! 

"Where's  your  hurry?"  Virginia  called. 

Then,  as  no  answer  came,  a  cold  fear  gripped  her,  and 
she  ran  down  the  steps  to  meet  her  friend. 

"Esther,  why  don't  you  speak?"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
surely,  there  can't  be  bad  news !" 

Her  fears  had  flown  at  once  to  the  northern  river, 
where  Jack  was  alone. 

Esther  knew  what  she  meant,  and  answered  quick  and 
low:  "No,  it's  not  that— but  oh,  Virginia,  Mr.  Dorval 
sent  Sebastian  down  for  you  .  .  ." 

"Father!"  Virginia  murmured  in  a  dazed  tone.  She 
had  never  dreamed  that  trouble  was  to  come  from  that 
quarter. 

"Yes,  he  wants  you.    He  is  ill." 
272 


THE   SANDS   RUN   OUT 


Through  Esther's  scant  speech  she  read  the  deeper 
meaning. 
"He's  alive?"  she  breathed,  just  above  a  whisper. 
"Yes,  but—"  she  checked  herself  with  a  gasp,  and 
there  was  no  need  of  more.  Virginia  understood  the 
need  of  haste,  if  she  would  satisfy  her  father's  last 
wish. 

Everything  beside  that  one  purpose  seemed  all  at  once 
vague  and  set  at  a  distance  from  her.    While  she  still  stood 
grasping  Esther's  hand,  Miss  Creighton  had  limped  out 
from  the  drawing-room,  where  she  had  been  lying  inva- 
lided with  lumbago. 
She  heard  her  soft  lament,  heard  Esther  saying: 
"Sebastian  says    it  happened   last    evening.      They 
fetched  the  doctor  up  this  morning.    It's  a  strain  of  the 
heart,  but  it  seems  he  knew  it  must  come  soon.    He  had 
been  warned." 
Virginia  shook  her  arm. 

"Esther,  I  mustn't  stay  talking.  We  must  get  the 
buckboard  at  once." 

"It's  no  use  hurrying.  The  moon  doesn't  rise  before 
one  o'clock.    You  can't  start  up  the  river  before  that  1" 

The  quiet  statement  broke  down  her  courage  and  she 
cried  wildly : 

"I  must!  I  must  get  there  before  he  dies!  Oh!  If 
he  should  die  alone !" 

Miss  Creighton  drew  her  into  her  arms  and  soothed  her 
silently,  but  with  a  new  thought  Virginia  pulled  her- 
self away,  demanding:  "Where's  Sebastian?  I  must  see 
him." 

"He's  with  Louis  in  the  stable  now.    We  called  at 
his  house  as  we  came,"  Esther  assured  her,  and  she 
calmed  at  the  thought  that  something  was  being  done. 
Then  all  became  swift  preparation.    While  Virginia 
273 


1  5: 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

was  flinging  oflf  her  light  dress,  Miss  Creighton  stood  be- 
side her  with  her  short  red  skirt  and  golf  coat. 

"No,  not  that,"  she  said  with  a  shiver  away  from  the 
bright  stuflF.  "The  navy  blue,  that's  darker,"  and  the 
little  woman  obeyed  her  in  silence. 

"You  poor  Marraine,"  Virginia  said,  looking  into  the 
pale  face.  "Your  back's  bad,  I  know.  You  ought  to  be 
under  your  down  quilt." 

"But  I  want  to  go  with  you." 

"You  couldn't.    You  know  you  couldn't." 

Miss  Creighton  did  know  it,  but  for  once  in  her  life, 
the  little  woman  thought  of  herself  and  broke  into  an 
open  wail : 

"Oh,  it  is  too  hard,  that  I  should  have  to  fail  you  and 
him  now." 

Marcus  Holbeach  had  for  years  loomed  large  in  her 
not  over-filled  life,  and  his  supreme  need  drew  her  like 
a  magnet,  apart  from  the  motherly  yearning  over  her 
charge,  going  out  to  face  her  first  ordeal. 

Virginia  gave  a  quick  gasp,  to  keep  down  the  rising 
tide  of  sorrow. 

"Marraine!  You've  never  failed  anyone  yet!  Oh, 
what's  that !"  as  a  slow,  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  stairs. 

They  turned,  to  see  Mrs.  LeRoy's  great  bulk  in  the 
doorway.  She  looked  more  massive  than  ever  in  a  man's 
ulster  and  with  a  cloth  cap  tied  on  by  a  black  gauze  veil. 
Her  heavy  eyes  told  of  a  vigil  of  tears,  but  her  face  was 
set  in  impassiveness.  She  gave  no  g^reeting,  uttered  no 
words  of  sympathy,  only  made  the  bald  statement : 

"Mr.  Dorval  sent  word  as  I'd  better  come  along. 
There's  canoes  an'  men  in  plenty,  if  I'd  take  up  too  much 
room  in  yours.  I  expect  I  can  double  myself  up  some- 
how." 

And  no  one  felt  a  doubt  but  that  "somehow"  Mrs.  Le- 
274 


THE   SANDS    RUN   OUT 


I 


Roy  would  accomplish  any  purpose  to  which  she  set  her- 
self. There  was  some  poor  pretense  at  food,  hot  soup 
and  cold  meat  before  they  started,  but  it  was  hard  work 
not  to  choke  over  it.  Any  attempt  at  good-byes  between 
Miss  Creighton  and  Virginia  would  have  been  fatal  to 
their  hard-held  self-control.  Each  was  too  vividly  con- 
scious of  what  the  home-coming  might  mean. 

It  was  with  a  gasp  of  relief  that  the  girl  snuggled 
down  in  the  buckboard,  close  to  the  old  woman's  soft 
bulk.  Against  the  velvety  darkness  of  the  sky  flickered 
long  red  streamers  of  northern  lights.  Mrs.  LeRoy 
muttered : 

"The  Injun  Ghosts  are  on  the  trail." 
Louis  was  in  front,  driving,  with  Sebastian  beside  him, 
and  two  canoemen  followed  in  a  light  buggy.  In  spite 
of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  as  they  drove  down  the  vil- 
lage street,  there  were  groups  of  men  at  open  doors, 
waiting  to  see  them  pass.  Half  of  Lanse  Louise  would 
have  been  on  their  way  up  the  river  if  they  might  have 
given  any  help  in  his  need,  to  the  man  who  had  dwelt 
among  them  so  long,  who  had  been  good  friend  and 
neighbor  to  so  many  of  them. 

That  dark  drive,  necessarily  slow  when  they  came  to 
the  steep  hillside  tracts,  and  th"  long  river  paddle  by 
moonlit  reaches  and  darkly  shadowed  pools,  was  ever 
afterwards  a  nightmare  memory  to  Virginia. 

Sebastian  and  the  river  guardian  poled  her  canoe,  while 
the  two  other  rivermen  followed  with  Mrs.  LeRoy. 

The  ashen  gray  of  dawn  was  changing  to  a  wonder  of 
auroral  radiance,  when  Sebastian  turned  the  canoe's  head 
into  the  Owl's  Nest  Landing. 

Her  hungry  eyes  had  already  sought  the  camp  on  the 
height,  but  failed  to  detect  any  sign  of  overhanging 
catastrophe.    A  blue  streak  of  smoke  rose  against  the 

«7S 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


saffron  sky,  as  though  an  ordinary  day  were  beginning 
within.  Dorval  was  awaiting  thnn  at  the  landing,  and 
the  inevitable  question  came  hoarse  on  Virginia's  lips : 

"He's  alive?" 

"Yes,  .>nd  expecting  you,"  and  as  the  men  steadied  the 
canoe,  he  stooped  to  raise  the  stiffened  girl.  A  glance 
into  his  worn  face,  and  a  silent  head-shake,  slew  her  last 
glimmer  of  hope. 

She  never  quite  knew  how  she  got  up  the  steep  path. 
She  realized  little,  until  she  found  herself  standing  by  a 
low  camp  bed  on  the  veranda,  with  the  glow  of  the  com- 
ing sunrise  weaving  a  strange  glory  around  that  face,  so 
familiar,  and  yet  so  strange,  with  the  new  gray  hollows 
and  peaked  outlines  of  two  days'  suffering.  The  eyes 
alone  seemed  to  have  concentrated  all  the  remaining  vital 
force,  all  the  conquest  of  spirit  over  body.  A  gleam  of 
attained  purpose  lit  them,  as  Virginia  crouched  down 
and  laid  her  hand  on  the  wasted  one,  on  which  the  bronze 
of  outdoor  !'.fe  seemed  already  fading. 

"Mrs.  LeRoy  brought  you?  .  .  .  That's  right."  There 
was  a  gap  between  each  phrase,  and  the  girl's  soul 
shivered  at  the  strangeness  of  the  voice. 

His  eyes  passed  on  to  the  old  woman,  standing  behind, 
and  their  insistence  drew  her  forward. 

"Tell  Jack  to  take  care  of  her — when  I'm  gone — ^Dorval 
knows — he'll  tell  him  what  I  want,"  he  said  slowly  and 
with  great  effort. 

His  eyes  closed  and,  as  the  fir.>^  great  golden  ray  spread 
around  him,  Virginia  breathed  a  wail  of  "Father — " 
thinking  the  end  had  come.  Mrs.  LeRoy's  big  hand  on 
her  shoulder  soothed  her. 

"Hush,  child !    He  ain't  gone  yet." 

As  if  his  daughter's  voice  had  called  him  back,  Hol- 
beach's  eyes  opened,  but  they  all  saw  that  his  conscious- 
276 


THE   SANDS   RUN   OUT 


I 


ness  was  failing.  An  inner  light  transfigured  his  face, 
and,  gazing  at  Virginia,  he  said  in  a  fuller,  deeper 
voice : 

"Amy— I  did  my  best  for  the  child— I've  left  her 
happy." 

In  childlike  dismay  at  his  aloofness,  she  cried  again 
sharply : 

"Father  I" 

The  ghost  of  a  laugh  passed  his  blue  lips. 

"The  child's  calling  me — I  must  go — good-bye.  Amy." 

Like  a  veil,  a  gray  dimness  spread  over  his  face,  and 
after  a  great  silence,  Mrs.  LeRoy  stooped  and  drew  the 
shuddering  girl  up  into  her  arms. 

"Come  away  with  me,  my  tamb,"  she  murmured. 
"Your  father's  at  rest." 

Later,  when  Marcus  Holbeach  had  been  laid  in  his  own 
room,  they  left  Virginia  alone  beside  him.  The  river 
and  the  pine  trees  sang  the  song  he  had  loved,  the  red- 
dening maple  leaves  sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  and  in  that 
inscrutable  smile  of  death,  the  great  peace  of  the  world 
he  had  loved  so  well,  seemed  emphasized. 

Watching  that  strange  return  of  youthful  beauty  to 
the  dead  face,  the  girl  forgot  her  loss  in  a  new  sense  of 
union.  All  those  unworthy  years  and  people  were  far 
from  him  now.  He  had  gone  to  her  mother,  his  last 
words  were  for  her,  and  in  the  going,  he  belonged  to 
her  more  utterly  than  ever  in  life.  At  noon,  Dorval  led 
her  down  to  the  shore,  and  in  the  mid-day  glow  she 
floated  down  the  river. 

It  was  dusk  before  Marcus  Holbeach  was  brought  back 
to  his  home,  Dorval  close  beside  him,  the  men  from  every 
cottage  they  passed  falling  in  behind  the  little  proces- 
sion. 

In  the  dead  man's  life  there  had  been  many  errors  and 


177 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


weaknesses,  but  he  had  been  loved  as  better  men  have 
often  failed  to  be. 

Full  of  this  sense  of  reunion  with  her  father,  Vir- 
ginia's grief  was  without  bitterness.  Her  face  looked 
pinched,  and  her  eyes  big  and  dark,  as  she  went  abcut 
the  silent  house  and  garden,  picking  amifuls  of  white 
flowers  for  that  darkened  room. 

And  then  Marcus  Holbeach  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  little 
English  churchyard,  between  the  hills  and  the  water,  and 
the  life  of  those  who  had  cared  for  him  went  on  ag^in 
without  him. 

Virginia  w,as  the  principal  thought  to  them  all— Miss 
Creighton  and  Dorval,  Esther  and  Mrs.  LeRoy.  She 
took  their  kindness  veiy  gently  and  sweetly,  not  shrink- 
ing away  into  solitude.  It  was  on  the  day  after  the 
funeral  that  Dorval  drew  her  off  to  a  garden-seat  to  tell 
her  of  those  last  days'  talks  with  her  father. 

Somehow,  even  before  the  fatal  seizure,  he  had 
seemed  to  know  that  the  end  was  near,  and  to  dwell 
on  the  thought  that  he  was  not  leaving  his  daughter 
alone. 

"I  wanted  to  give  her  the  English  home,  but  it  didn't 
woik— never  could  have.  She  had  more  sense  than  I 
had,"  he  said. 

Dorval  had  long  known  of  the  will,  leaving  Virginia 
the  Bluff  House  and  half  his  available  English  property, 
while  the  other  half  went  to  Giles.  But  on  the  last  active 
day  of  Holbeach's  life  there  had  been  a  codicil,  drawn 
up  and  signed,  dividing  the  money  he  had  arranged  to 
invest  in  the  Virginia  mine,  between  her  and  Jack  Le- 
Roy, "so  that  he  can  have  a  standing  of  his  own  when 
he  marries  her.'  Dorval  and  Miss  Creighton  were  Vir- 
ginia's trustees  and  guardians. 
The  giri's  tears  fell  fast  at  these  signs  of  loving 
2jS 


THE   SANDS   RUN   OUT 


thought  fulness,  but  they  were  tears  without  a  sting  in 
them. 

All  at  once  she  looked  up  at  Dorval,  with  a  sudden  in- 
tentness,  asking:    "But  when  will  Jack  hear?" 

Dorval  shook  his  head.  "I'm  afraid  we  must  wait  for 
that,"  he  said.  And  they  did  wait  without  a  word,  while 
the  glory  of  the  forests  waxed  and  waned,  and  the  au- 
tumn storms  rolled  up  the  Gulf,  and  Virginia's  eyes  grew 
more  wistful  and  shadowy. 


i  7 


CHAPTER   XXVIl 


VIRGINIA  CAMP 


LITTLE  did  Jack  LeRoy  guess  during  those 
autumn  days,  of  the  changes  that  had  come  to 
Laiise  Louise,  or  that  he  himself,  by  right  of 
his  legacy,  was  now  the  largest  shareholder  in 
the  Virginia  mine.  Much  was  to  happen  before  he  knew 
that  in  death  Marcus  Holbeach  had  acknowledged  his 
claim  to  his  daughter. 

Though  the  consciousness  of  Virginia  as  a  motive 
powei  to  every  action  was  always  with  him,  Jack,  being 
by  no  means  an  imaginative  person,  did  not  give  much 
thought  to  what  might  be  happening  in  Lanse  Louise. 
His  present  business  was  to  get  the  mine  started,  and  into 
that  he  put  all  his  heart. 

It  was  the  golden  time,  when  summer  had  nicrged  into 
'  the  first  mellow  glow  of  autumn,  and  over  silent  forests 
and  river  brooded  the  peace  of  maturity.  As  his  friend's 
canoe  vanished  downstream,  Jack  strolled  back  to  the 
empty  camp  that  seemed  all  at  once  to  have  lost  its  old 
homelike  feeling.  A  good  fire  and  a  comrade  to  share  it 
can  make  a  home  in  queer  places,  and  comrades  these 
two  had  grown  in  many  a  yam  over  pipes,  when  the 
day's  work  was  done.  The  hopes  they  shared,  the  respect 
they  had  learned  for  each  other's  loyalty,  had  knit  a 
strong  bond  between  them. 

But  now,  with  large  stores  of  unconscious  philosophy 

280 


VIRGINIA   CAMP 


to  draw  on,  and  with  the  future  rosy  ahead,  Jack  settled 
himself  to  make  the  best  of  his  solitude. 

Noel  had  shown  him  where  the  first  work  of  clearing 
should  be  started,  and,  as  one  beginning  a  solemn  ritual, 
he  struck  the  first  blow  with  his  ax. 

It  meant  so  much  to  him,  this  work— meant  the  home 
he  was  to  make  for  Virginia,  and  all  the  coming  happy 
years,  when  he  would  know  the  respect  of  Holbeach  and 
Dorval,  would  insure  his  mother's  comfort  and  taste  the 
sweets  of  success. 

But  there  wt/e  other  things  to  bear  in  mind  beside  the 
work  on  his  beloved  domain.  He  was  here  single- 
handed,  and  that  party  of  five  men,  who  knew  of  his 
treasure,  and  would  miss  no  chance  to  grab  it,  were  not 
far  off  and  might  appear  at  any  time.  With  all  the  cool- 
ness of  an  unimaginative  nature,  he  took  his  precautions. 

To  one  side  of  the  camp  rose  a  steep  ledge  of  granite, 
clothed  with  bushes  wherever  there  had  been  space  for 
soil  to  settle  in  its  cracks.  This  ledge  he  explored,  and 
finding  its  crest  slope  inward  to  one  of  those  hilltop 
springs  whose  waters  never  fail,  he  carried  up  there  a 
certain  share  of  his  stores. 

To  this  ledge  he  climbed  twice  a  day  to  scan  the  down- 
stream length  of  the  lake,  vnth  the  glasses  that  had  been 
Dorval's  present  to  him.  It  was  from  downstream  that 
either  friend  or  foe  would  come. 

On  a  radiant  September  noon,  when  the  lake  slept 
under  the  pale  blue  sky,  he  clambered  up  there  before 
cooking  his  dinner.  He  felt  that  someone  must  come 
to-day. 

And  someone  did  seem  to  be  coming,  for  what  else  was 

that  black  speck  down  the  island,  and  that  rhythmic  flash 

of  wet  paddle-blades  in  sunshine?    With  tlie  instinctive 

caution   of    the   forest,    he    dropped    to    crouch    oa. 

281 


'    ' 


-  » 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

the  rock  and  gazed.  If  the  canoe  were  to  hold  on  up- 
stream, it  might  be  carrying  Indians  or  lumbermen,  for 
this  string  of  lakes  threaded  on  a  river  was  one  of  the 
great  northern  waterways.  If  there  were  only  two  men, 
they  might  be  Moses  and  Pierre.  No,  there  were  three. 
He  could  see  that  plainly.  Now  remained  the  chance  of  ' 
their  holding  on  upstream.  They  were  level  with  the 
landing,  they  were  past  it,  and  his  heart  had  given  a 
leap  of  relief  when,  with  the  skilled  touch  of  practiced 
rivermen,  the  canoe  swept  round  and  dropped  down  to  the 
bank. 

He  had  already  recognized  Coolen,  who  was  ^'uiding 
his  party  to  their  old  camp.  Beside  him  he  saw  one  of 
the  American  engineers,  who  had  been  in  Coolen's  com- 
pany at  Gowganda,  and  a  tough-looking  specimen  of  the 
local  riverman. 

In  the  impulse  to  hold  his  ground,  he  slipped  down  the 
ledge  to  the  camp,  and,  with  a  grim  chuckle,  sat  himself 
down,  facing  the  shore  path,  with  the  fire  in  front  of 
him,  and  the  pole  bearing  their  names,  and  the  title  of 
the  Virginia  Mining  Company,  behind  him. 

Although  in  those  waiting  moments  he  reached  out  for 
the  frying-pan  and  began  to  slice  bacon  into  it,  his  re- 
volver was  ready  under  his  wrist. 

His  practiced  ear  heard  the  grate  of  gravel  on  the 
beach,  heard  the  swish  of  parted  bushes,  before  Coolen 
appeared  in  the  path,  staring  at  him  with  a  blank  amaze- 
ment, that  changed  to  a  brutish  scowl  of  dismay.  Over 
his  shoulder  Jack  saw  the  peering  face  of  the  engineer. 

"The  devil !"  came  in  a  gasp  from  Coolen. 

Returning  the  stare  with  interest,  and  seeming  to  see 
no  one  save  Coolen,  Jack  asked  blandly: 

"Well,  my  friend,    and    what    brings  you    here?    I 
thought  I  had  seen  the  the  last  of  you." 
282 


VIRGINIA   CAMP 


This  let  kxMC  a  volley  of  profanity. 

"Gueu  you  haven't,  then,  by  a  long  sight,  Mr.  Leader 
of  Better  Men  than  Yourself.  If  you  want  to  know  so 
bad,  I've  brought  me  partners  hf  re  to  the  claim  as  I  took 
up  three  months  ago,  and  as  ju've  jumped  like  the — 
all  sorts  of  unpleasant  things — you  are." 

"That's  a  lie,  anyhow,"  came  sharp  and  short  from 
Jack.  "I'll  take  my  oath  you've  not  seen  this  place  since 
the  night  we  camped  here  and  found  the  skull  lying  on 
the  rock,  and  you  and  your  sort  stampeded  half  a  mile, 
because  one  of  the  Frenchies  had  the  nightmare,  and 
yelled  like  a  screech-owl.  I  wonder  you're  not  too  scared 
of  the  skull  to  come  back." 

At  the  contemptuous  words,  the  undersized  creature 
poked  his  long  neck  forward  like  a  snake  about  to  bite. 

"It  would  take  more'n  any  old  skull,  nor  you  either, 
to  scare  me,  so  if  you  think  you're  going  to  jump  my 
claim  .  .  ."  he  shrilled. 

"Shut  up,  Coolen,"  came  over  his  shoulder  from  the 
engineer.  "There's  no  sense  in  starting  a  fight."  Then 
to  Jack :    "Your  name's  LeRoy,  ain't  it  ?" 

"It  is." 

"And  you  consider  yourself  in  possession  here  ?" 

"I  do,  most  certainly." 

"Well,  it's  a  sell  for  us.  We  hadn't  an  idea  there  was 
anyone  else  in  the  field.  We  didn't  even  see  a  canoe  on 
the  bank." 

The  words  were  conciliatory,  but  as  Jack  met  those 
watchful  eyes  he  felt  it  wise  not  to  betray  the  fact  that 
he  had  no  means  of  escape  at  hand. 

"I  mostly  like  to  hide  my  canoe  in  the  bushes.  Some- 
times folks  lose  them." 

He  knew  the  rashness  of  the  taunt,  as  he  marked  the 
flash  of  cold  anger  in  the  eiigineer'a  eyes. 
283 


:    1:1 


I 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

A  howl  came  from  Coolen. 

"It  was  you,  you  skunk  .  .  ." 

"I  told  yott  to  shut  up,  Coolen,"  laid  the  engineer. 

"Then  you're  working  tingle-handed?"  be  asked,  his 
intent  stare  on  Jack. 

Again  the  latter  felt  that  the  truth  might  not  be  wise. 

"I  expect  my  partner  along  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,"  was  his  jaunty  answer. 

"By  the  first  train,  I  guess,"  the  other  sneered;  then 
to  Coolen :  "look  here,  we'd  better  see  to  our  canoe." 

There  seemed  to  Jack  some  significance  in  the  tone, 
and  that  one  man  <^uld  have  done  the  job. 

He  sat  waiting,  and  in  a  minute  the  two  were  back, 
the  engineer  leading  this  time. 

"Well,"  he  said,  strolling  forward  with  a  casual  air, 
"as  we've  only  one  canoe  to  five  of  us  just  now,  I  guess 
I'll  have  to  make  a  trip  downstream  again.  It  will  be 
best  to  leave  the  men  here  to  make  a  camp,  white  I  fetch 
up  the  other  two.  We  may  not  be  back  before  the  morn- 
ing, so  p'rhaps  we'll  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
partner  on  the  way." 

The  casualness  was  a  bit  overdone,  and  Jack,  sitting 
feeing  the  speaker,  with  the  same  steady  gaze,  felt  a 
strange  stirring  at  the  roots  of  his  hair,  as  he  realized 
that  this  move  had  been  planned  just  now  between  them. 
Why  was  the  responsible  man  of  the  party  going  off  :  nd 
leaving  him,  one  against  two,  through  the  hours  of  dark- 
ness, with  these  two  wolves  of  the  forest  ?  How  did  he 
expect  to  find  the  situation  c^^nged  when  he  returned 
next  day? 

Revealing  none  of  these  doubts,  he  rapped  out: 
"They're  not  going  to  make  a  camp  here  on  our  land." 

The  other  grinned  queerly. 

"No?    You're    very   particular.    Well,   then,   they'll 

284 


VIRGINIA   CAMP 


camp— let  me  see— at  the  long  point  by  the  narrows. 
You've  no  objection  to  that  ?" 

"No."  This  was  hardly  the  truth,  but  still,  what  else 
oould  he  say?  "All  right,  then."  The  engineer  turned 
to  go,  saying  as  he  did  so :  "See  you— perhaps  to-mor- 
row, perhaps  .  .  ." 

"In  Kingdom  Come,"  put  in  Jack— and  then  reviled 
himself  for  having,  even  to  that  extent,  betrayed  his 
suspicions. 

"Dear  me !  I  hope  before  that  I"  And  his  little  cack- 
ling laugh  was  the  last  Jack  heard  from  him. 

He  waited  until  their  voices  had  died  away,  and  then 
peered  after  them  from  the  shore.  Yes,  they  had  gone 
downstream,  but  he  felt  thjt  the  two  men  would  not  be 
far  away.  For  all  they  could  tell,  it  was  his  life  alone 
that  stood  between  them  and  riches.  He  knew  Coolen 
as  an  unmitigated  blackguard,  and  the  one  glimpse  ob- 
tained of  his  companion  had  revealed  hin'  as  the  lowest 
type  of  half-breed.  Truly  the  coming  hour«  of  darkness 
were  likely  to  hold  quite  as  much  excit  aent  as  he 
hankered  after.  If  things  were  m  a  normal  state  surely 
it  would  have  been  more  natural  for  the  engineer  to  stay 
and  prospect  the  new  ground,  keeping  Coolen  to  make 
the  camp,  while  he  sent  the  other  man  downstream. 

Fervently  Jack  v/ished  that  he  had  taken  to  his  eyrie 
at  the  first  alarm,  but  now  he  felt  that  he  must  hold  the 
fort,  giving  no  sign  of  weakness.  Some  instinct  seemed 
to  make  the  camp  fire  the  central  point  of  possession,  and 
there  he  stayed. 

The  hours  of  enforced  idleness  were  passed  in  whittling 
points  to  a  heap  of  poles,  and  as  his  knife  worked,  his 
mind  scanned  all  the  chances  of  the  near  future.  He 
meant  to  leave  no  loop-hole  open  to  failure,  if  he  could 
help  it. 

a8s 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


I  if 


The  early  sunset  came,  and  with  it  a  new  sense  of  the 
encompassing  forest  solitude. 

He  started  at  a  distant  cry,  and  looked  up  to  see  over- 
head a  wedge-shaped  flock  of  wild  geese  heading  south, — 
the  first  sign  of  the  coming  winter.  It  was  a  relief  to 
inaction  to  have  a  shot  at  them,  and  as  two  birds  fell 
near  by,  he  plucked  one  and  began  to  prepare  it  for 
supper. 

"Enough  left  for  guests,  if  they  happen  along,"  he 
muttered,  when  he  had  done  his  best  on  it. 

At  last  came  the  hour  when  the  night  must  be  faced. 
He  would  not  keep  up  a  bright  fire  to  guide  his  foes,  but 
before  banking  the  brands  he  flung  on  a  handful  of  dry 
leaves,  aiu^j)  their  Jjght  took  a  long  look  at  Virginia's 
face.  Was  she  thinking  of  him  to-night,  he  wondered, 
whispering,  "God  bless  her !"  as  he  stowed  the  little  case 
away,  close  to  his  heart. 

And  then  began  his  night  watch.  Used  to  his  eight 
hours'  sleep,  he  did  his  best,  tramping  the  narrow  cleared 
space  of  the  camp,  sitting  up  with  hands  clasping  his 
knees,  and  smoking  all  the  time. 

It  was  little  after  midnight  when  his  head  dropped  for- 
ward on  his  clasped  hands  and  he  dozed,  to  start  all  at 
once  keenly  alert  at  the  crack  of  a  stepped-on  twig.  Yes, 
there  it  was  again,  through  the  night  stillness,  the  swish 
of  parting  bushes  coming  nearer.  There  was  no  time  to 
think.  His  move  must  be  made  before  the  others  stopped 
to  listen. 

Leaving  his  blanket  in  place,  he  crawled  from  under  it, 
toward  the  cliff.  He  reached  a  lower  jutting  ledge  and 
swung  himself  up  just  as  the  flickering  glow  of  the  aurora 
overhead  showed  a  dark  figure  creep  into  the  open  space 
around  the  fire  and  stoop  over  his  bed. 

"There'll  be  a  hole  in  my  new  blanket,"  he  jested  wrath- 
386 


VIRGINIA    CAMP 


fully  to  himself,  just  as  he  heard  Coolen's  voice,  hoarse 
with  rage :    "He's  given  us  the  slip  I" 

Behind  him  came  the  grunt  of  the  half-breed :  "Him 
gone  in  canoe.    No  catch  him." 

"Don't  believe  he's  got  a  canoe  to  his  name.  We're 
bound  to  catch  him  now.  The  boss  doesn't  mean  to  know 
what's  become  of  him.  He'll  ask  no  questions,  an'  the 
lake's  deep." 

"Thank  you!"  muttered  Jack,  with  new  sense  of  the 
preciousness  of  life,  a  new  power  to  fight  for  it. 

It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death  now  to  scale  the  cliff 
without  a  betraying  sound. 

As  they  stirred  the  brands  and,  heaping  on  brush- 
wood, proceeded  to  rummage  the  camp.  Jack  slowly  crept 
upward  and  reached  his  cuplike  fortress  in  silence. 

"They'll  try  nothing  now  till  daylight,"  he  decided,  and 
then,  in  ten  minutes,  was  sound  asleep. 

Starting  up  with  the  earliest  dawn,  he  realized  his  po- 
sition. It  might  have  been  worse,  he  decided.  He  had 
water,  food  and  a  blanket,  and,  even  if  discovered,  could 
hold  his  position  with  a  revolver,  while  there  was  every 
chance  of  speedy  reinforcements. 

"If  I  weren't  such  a  chap  to  sleep,"  he  pondered  rue- 
fully. 

The  long  hours  passed,  and,  though  he  might  not 
smoke,  he  could  eat  his  cold  bacon  and  biscuits,  flavoring 
them  with  blueberries  from  the  low  bushes  around,  all 
the  time  keeping  a  sharp  ear  for  the  occasional  move- 
ments of  the  men  through  the  brushwood. 

Hour  by  hour  he  scanned  the  long  sweep  of  the  lake 
and  found  it  empty,  but  at  last,  as  the  sun  was  sinking 
toward  the  crimson  hills,  his  heart  leaped  at  sight  of  a 
canoe  with  two  men  in  it,  below  the  island. 

On  it  came  steadily,  and  at  last  he  felt  sure  of  Mo.ses' 
287 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


queer  fashion  of  paddling,  a  fashion  he  had  many  a  time 
laughed  at. 

For  a  moment  he  pondered  as  to  letting  them  land  un- 
warned, and  making  a  rush  down  to  join  them.  No,  the 
others  might  have  got  reckless  enough  to  shoot  at  them 
from  shelter,  and  lives  might  be  lost. 

In  the  enforced  idleness  of  last  winter's  camps,  Jack 
had  invented  a  system  of  signaling  to  amuse  the  men,  and 
Moses  had  been  an  enthusiast  at  it.  Deciding  to  risk  the 
others  seeing  him,  he  tied  a  red  handkerchief  to  a  stick 
and  began.  For  a  time  there  was  no  response,  then,  yes, 
there  was  a  flicker  of  red,  and  Jack  felt  sure  that  Moses 
had  tmderstood  his  order  to  go  ashore  and  lie  low  till  dark. 

The  canoe  faltered,  and,  turning  in  to  the  bank,  was 
lost  to  sight.  There  was  none  of  last  night's  desolation 
in  the  clear  yellow  sunset  and  its  presage  of  night,  for 
friends  were  at  hand  and  he  could  wait,  but  it  was  enough 
to  put  any  man  in  a  temper  to  sniff  the  savory  fumes  that 
rose  from  his  camp  and  to  know  that  the  foes  were  there 
busy  cooking  his  second  goose  for  their  supper.  He  had 
grabbed  the  half-eaten  one  as  he  fled,  and  was  feeding  on 
it  now,  but  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  hot  and 
cold  goose,  as  he  bitterly  realized. 

"Why  wasn't  I  content  with  one?"  he  wondered. 

His  supper  finished,  he  crouched  with  his  head  over  the 
ledge  to  listen  to  the  enemy's  talk. 

Coolen  seemed  to  be  sitting  just  below  him,  with  his 
back  turned.  A  weird  cry  from  a  loon  thrilled  the  air, 
and  Coolen  looked  around  uneasily. 

"I  don't  like  this  place,  never  did,  since  the  first  day 
I  saw  it,  with  that  white  skull  grinning  at  us  from  that 
rock  over  there.  How'd  it  get  there,  an'  what  did  Al- 
phone  see  when  he  started  screechin'  an'  runnin'  that 
night?  His  mother  was  a  witch  down  the  Long  Water. 
188 


VIRGINIA    CAMP 


There's  something  queer  about  the  place,  and  if  I  didn't 
believe  that  skunk's  hidin'  'round  waitin'  to  get  back,  an' 
if  the  camp  wasn't  fixed  up  so  snug,  I'd  just  .  .  ." 

He  never  said  what  he  would  do,  for,  as  he  talked, 
Jack  had  been  watching  the  approach  of  a  weird  figure 
through  the  bushes. 

Swathed  in  white  folds,  with  head  and  claws  of  a  wild- 
tat  dangling  over  a  face  streaked  with  black  and  white 
ashes,  it  bore  a  semblance  to  an  Indian  chief  of  old  in  his 
"ittle  paint. 

As  the  ghastly  thing  parted  the  bushes  and  slid  for- 
ward with  a  noiseless  step,  it  brandished  a  hatchet  and 
gave  a  long,  wailing  cry,  seeming  ready  to  swoop  on  the 
camp  and  its  occupants.  With  that,  Jack,  seeing  the  toe 
of  a  familiar  boot  below  the  blanket,  and  knowing  that 
Moses  was  on  the  war-path,  sent  out  from  his  crag  an 
Indian  war-whoop  that  he  had  spent  many  boyish  hours 
in  perfecting. 

But  his  help  was  not  needed.  One  glance  at  that  awe- 
some form,  with  the  forest  darkness  behind  it  and  the 
firelight  playing  fantastically  over  its  bai:ed  face,  was 
enough  for  the  two,  who  fled  with  yells  and  oaths  befit- 
ting Lutzau's  Wild  Chase. 

As  their  cries  died  away,  the  ghost  flung  down  hi"  sail- 
cloth wrapping,  a  weirder  figure  than  ever,  with  painted 
face  and  feathered  crest  matching  so- ill  the  miner's  dress 
below. 

A  Homeric  peal  of  laughter  rang  out  from  Jack's 
fortress,  and  Moses  peered  anxiously  round. 

"Where  are  ye,  then  ?  Come  on  quick  with  your  gun 
if  you're  not  tied,"  he  shouted. 

"I'm  not  tied.    No  fear." 

Slipping  and  sliding  down  the  rock.  Jack  tumbled  head 

hands. 


I  camp. 


grasped  1 


289 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


I  'IP ' 

i  I  Im'i 


^1 


"Good  for  you,  old  Boanerges!"  was  his  greeting. 
"Where's  Pierre?" 
"Keeping  an  eye  on  the  canoe." 
"We'll  pack  it  up  here,  then  we'll  fall  to  on  the  goose 
Mr.  Coolen's  been  cooking  while  I  was  perched  on  the 
rock  sniffing  it.  But  how'd  you  guess  that  an  Indian 
ghost  would  come  in  handy  ?" 

Moses  chuckled.  "Lord  bless  you,  I  hadn't  forgotten 
that  outrageous  night  we  camped  here,  an'  when  I  saw 
you  on  the  hill-top  an'  their  smoke  in  the  camp,  I  knew 
'twas  time  to  be  doing.  Not  to  mention,"  he  went  or. 
with  a  smirk,  "that  I  was  doin'  a  bit  of  prospectin'  of  roe 
own  round  the  bosses'  camp.  They're  right  out  on  that 
narrow  point,  an'  I  crept  up  an'  heard  enough  to  make 
us  get  a  way  on.  I  heard  one  of  them  joking  about  Coo- 
len's ghost.  Guess  they  won't  joke  to-morrow.  Tell 
you  what,  sor,"  he  added  seriously,  "you've  had  your 
own  good  luck  to  have  kept  clear  of  them  two,  for  they 
do  be  tellin'  me  down  below  as  the  men  they've  got  with 
them  are  the  very  scum  of  the  river." 

"See  here,"  was  Jack's  answer,  as  he  held  up  his  new 
blanket,  scarred  by  a  deep  knife-thrust.  "That  was 
meant  for  me,"  he  said. 

There  was  mighty  feasting  that  night  on  the  rescued 
goose,  and  Jack  had  the  first  turn  at  sleep  while  Moses 
kept  watch. 

Jack  fe't  sure  the  engineers  would  allow  no  open  fight- 
ing, but  that  was  not  to  say  that  Coolen  might  not  try 
some  bliooting  on  his  own  account. 

Thsy  would  not  be  quite  secure  from  meddling  until 
the  others  knew  that  their  claim  was  registered. 

And  so,  for  the  next  few  days,  while  they  tasted  the 
first  joys  of  their  work,  they  kept  one  man  on  guard. 
Moses,  prowling  round  in  the  twilight  in  the  canoe,  re- 
290 


VIRGINIA   CAMP 


ported  that  the  other  party  had  come  up  and  camped  on 
the  opposite  shore  behind  the  island. 

"I  guess  Coolen  saw  me  fetchin'  some  stones  from  be- 
hint  there  one  day,  but  they  weren't  no  good,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

"Well,  I  wish  they'd  clear  out,"  said  Jack,  who  had 
heard  a  shot  whizz  close  to  him,  as  he  stooped  to  wash 
some  fish  in  the  stream  that  morning. 

At  last  came  the  noontide  when,  as  they  smoked  their 
after-dinner  pipes  by  the  firt,  they  heard  a  long,  clear 
whistle  from  the  lake. 

"Noel !"  cried  Jack,  and  they  all  tumbled  down  to  the 
shore,  to  see  the  canoe  just  running  in  to  the  bank,  Noel 
in  the  stern  and  a  Frenchman  in  the  bow. 
"You've  got  the  claim?"  asked  Jack. 
"That's  all  right.    But  who  are  your  neighbors  across 
the  way'" 

"It's  a  long  story.  Come  on  and  have  grub,"  said  Jack. 
Jack's  tale  was  told  over  the  pipes,  and  Noel's  bronzed 
face  looked  more  like  a  carved  wooden  image  than  ever 
as  he  listened. 

"We'll  soon  settle  them,"  he  decided.  "It  won't  be 
worth  their  while  to  make  any  more  trouble  when  once 
they  know  we've  got  our  claim  registered.  Those  en- 
gineers can't  want  to  make  the  country  too  hot  to  hold 
them." 

"I  guess  Coolen's  u  bit  out  of  hand.  That  last  shot  of 
his  must  have  been  a  private  speculation,"  said  Jack,  who 
had  a  weakness  for  judging  his  fellows  leniently.  "And 
so,"  he  went  on,  "you  and  I'll  paddle  over  presently  and 
explain  matters." 

But  Noel  looked  du..ious.    "See  here,"  he  began,  "you 
seem  to  be  a  red  flag  to  a  bull  to  the  lot  of  them,  while 
if  Louis  and  I  just  happened  along  it  would  take  them 
291 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


a  minute  or  two  to  make  out  who  we  were,  and  those 
minutes  are  just  what  we  want." 

Jaclc  argued  the  point,  but  Moses  and  Noel  together 
were  too  strong  for  him,  and  an  hour  later  the  latter  set 
out  across  the  lake  with  his  man. 

"I'm  going  to  wave  a  white  flag  at  them  in  case  of  ac- 
cidents," Noel  explained  as  he  went. 

The  rival  camp  was  pitched  on  an  open  bank,  and 
Noel's  shout  brought  two  or  three  men  to  stare  at  the 
eccentric  person  who  sat  gently  waving  a  white  hand- 
kerchief on  a  stick. 

"The  boss  there  ?"  he  began. 

"I'm  boss,"  answered  a  short,  spare  man,  "but  I'm  not 
a  mosquito  for  you  to  be  flapping  that  thing  at  me." 

"I  just  wanted  to  prevent  any  one  shooting  at  rabbits 
while  I'm  round.  I'm  nervous  about  fire-arms,"  Noel 
drawled.  "See  here,  I  understand  a  man  of  yours  claims 
first  rights  to  our  mine  over  there." 

"Ko«r  mine?" 

"Yes;  I'm  Noel,  one  of  the  partners  in  the  Virginia 
Mine,  and  I've  just  come  across  in  a  friendly  way  to  say 
we've  got  our  boundaries  marked  out  and  registered  and 
it's  no  use  kicking." 

There  was  something  like  a  growl  from  the  group  on 
the  bank,  and  Noel  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  for  any  hostile 
sign. 

But  it  was  evident  that  times  were  changed. 

"That  so?"  was  the  dreary  response.  "Well,  God 
knows,  I'd  never  have  come  wasting  time  and  money 
here  if  I'd  have  guessed  some  one  was  ahead  of  me." 

"Why  don't  you  get  on  upstream  ?  There's  lots  more 
chances  round  everywhere,"  Noel  found  himself  reassur- 
ing the  speaker. 

"How  can  we,  five  men  to  one  canoe?" 
292 


VIRGINIA    CAMP 


"Well,  as  I  came  up  yesterday  I  saw  the  nose  of  a  dti;^- 
out  sticking  out  of  the  shallow  water  just  below  the  first 
run.  Perhaps  it's  yours.  So'ong!  Bon  voyage T  And 
with  a  swift  paddle-stroke  he  was  out  in  mid-stream, 
for  fear  their  feelings  might  prove  too  much  for  them. 

The  next  day  there  was  no  smoke  on  the  opposite 
shore,  and  Pierre,  scouting,  pronounced  the  coast  clear. 
Then  ensued  a  time  of  hard  work,  sweetened  by  the  daily 
solidifying  of  golden  visions.  Before  the  first  storm  had 
bared  the  hills  of  their  leafy  glory,  the  owners  of  Vir- 
ginia mine  knew  that  they  were  to  be  richer  than  they 
had  ever  dreamed. 

"The  lake's  caught,"  said  Noel,  one  crisp  morning. 
"Till  the  going's  hard  there'll  be  no  use  for  any  of  us  to 
make  excuses  to  go  down." 

Jack  looked  guilty.  "Well,  someone  will  have  to  go 
then  to  see  about  machinery  and  men,  and  all  sorts  of 
things.    This  mine's  going  to  be  a  big  thing." 

There  was  a  look  of  almost  awe  on  his  face  at  the 
realization  of  his  dreams. 

"Then  you  can  go,"  said  Noel.  "It  will  be  my  turn 
later.  And,  see  here,  while  you're  away  we'll  build  you 
a  fine  house." 

"A  fine  house?"  Jack  turned  a  bewildered  gaze  on  the 
spacious  log-hut  the  two  shared,  and  which  had  been 
his  pride  when  finished.    "Why,  isn't  this  good  enough  ?" 

"It  won't  always  be." 

Suddenly  Jack  flushed  scarlet. 

"Noel,"  he  cried  in  boyish  appeal,  "you  don't  think 
I  could  bring  her  here  ?" 

"Why  not,  if  she's  the  right  sort  and  if  you've  got  the 
money  to  do  it.    /  mean  to  try  it  in  the  spring." 

"Hurrah!"  Jack  shouted.    "We'll  found  a  colony." 


«93 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


RESTITUTION 

IT  WAS  winter  again  in  Lanse  Louise,  and  while,  at 
the  Bluff  House,  Virginia  in  her  black  dress 
waited  and  watched  for  news  that  was  slow  to 
come,  at  the  hotel  the  shadows  were  deepening. 

Coming  and  going  between  the  two  houses,  Esther 
never  entered  her  own  home  without  feeling  the  gloom 
wafted  out  like  something  palpable  to  meet  her. 

She  could  not  have  told  by  what  exact  process  she  had 
arrived  at  the  certainty  of  some  secre  Je,  either  past  or 
present,  between  her  mother  and  Dorval. 

Perhaps  a  hundred  little  half-noticed  facts  of  years  had 
taken  adhesive  shape  that  summer  night  when  Noel  und 
she  had  come  upon  the  two  on  the  veranda ;  perhaps  ^h" 
had  learned  to  read  the  meaning  of  her  father's  furtive 
glances,  of  her  mother's  welcoming  eyes.  Nothing  was 
openly  changed  in  their  home  life.  Dorval  came  and 
went  with  the  same  careless  regularity,  playing  chess  with 
her  father  in  the  evenings,  bringing  her  mother  books 
and  papers  and  game  from  his  shooting  trips. 

Once  or  twice  of  late,  when  he  offered  to  take  her  for 
one  of  the  long  winter  drives  that  had  always  been  a  habit 
with  them,  Esther  had  made  an  excuse,  and  then  felt 
choky  and  guilty  under  his  quick  scrutiny. 

It  was  no  use ;  she  could  not  dislike  him.    Everything 
about  his  looks  and  ways  was  so  pleasant  to  her.    She 
even  wondered,  now  that  she  knew  her  own  heart  so  well, 
294 


RESTITUTION 


how  she  had  never  happened  to  fall  in  love  with  the  only 
unmarried  man  whom  she  had  really  known,  at  least  be- 
fore Noel  came. 

It  was  in  Mrs.  Sabine  that  the  change  was  concen- 
trated. Day  by  day  she  went  about  her  household  tasks 
as  though  driven  by  an  inward  spirit  of  unrest,  and  when 
it  seemed  as  though,  in  the  winter  quiet  of  the  house, 
there  could  be  nothing  else  for  her  to  do,  she  produced 
great  piles  of  linen  and  darned  and  stitched  with  the  in- 
tensity which  the  captive  hawk,  Mary  Stuart,  must  have 
put  into  those  endless  tapestries  she  left  behind  her  in 
British  fortress  castles. 

The  only  time  she  seemed  to  take  any  relaxation  was 
when  she  sat  and  scanned  the  Boston  and  Montreal  pa- 
pers that,  at  this  time  of  year,  sometimes  did  not  come 
for  two  or  three  days  at  a  time,  and  then  arrived  all  to- 
gether. With  these  irregularities  in  the  mails,  Esther 
noticed  a  more  somber  light  in  her  mother's  eyes,  an 
eagerness  to  open  the  delayed  papers,  while,  as  they 
crackled  under  her  grasp,  Mr.  Sabine,  shivering  over  the 
fire,  watched  her  furtively.  But  for  the  certainty  that  her 
father  was  more  at  ease  when  she  was  near  him,  Esther 
would  have  taken  every  chance  to  be  away  from  home. 
As  it  was,  she  renewed  their  old  winter  routine  with  Vir- 
ginia, often  driving  for  hours  in  her  friend's  light  .sleigh, 
or  tramping  the  country  together  on  snowshoes. 

At  the  end  of  a  still,  gray  day  of  intense  frost,  when 
earth  and  sky  seemed  grimly  awaiting  a  snowfall,  Esther 
had  come  in  from  such  a  drive,  and  paused  a  moment  in 
the  outer  office  to  glance  over  one  or  two  envelopes 
brought  from  the  post-office.  Seeing  nothing  of  interest 
among  them,  she  flung  down  her  fur  coat  and  was  about 
to  go  on  into  the  family  sitting-room,  when,  through  the 
door,  a  crack  ajar,  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  not 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


raised  above  its  usual  level  tones,  but  strained  in  an  in- 
tensity of  bitterness : 

"In  all  these  long  years  has  the  need  of  restitution 
never  conquered  your  craven  fears?  Even  now,  when  I 
tell  you  that  Mr.  Noel  is  certainly  dying,  does  it  make 
no  difference?" 

Without  a  thought  save  for  her  own  threatened  happi- 
ness, Esther  flung  the  door  wide. 

Mr.  Sabine  was  huddled  in  his  chair  by  the  fire,  look- 
ing up  with  nervous  fear  in  his  bright  blue  eyes  at  his 
wife,  who  stood  before  him,  newspaper  in  hand. 

"Mother,  what  do  you  mean?  Who  told  you  Mr.  Noel 
is  ill?" 

Even  in  her  anxious  haste  she  could  not  use  the 
ominous  word. 

Father  and  mother  stared  at  her  as  at  some  frivolous 
interruption. 

"What  do  you  know  of  Mr.  Noel?"  Mrs.  Sabine  asked. 

"Why,  mother,"  impatiently,  "you  know,  he  was  here 
in  the  house  for  a  month " 

"And  what  would  it  matter  to  you  if  he  died?" 

Unheeding  the  harshness  of  the  words,  she  protested : 

"Everything  I    But  you  must  tell  me " 

Here  her  father's  weak,  shrill  voice  broke  in  in  un- 
wonted protest : 

"Torture  me  if  you  want  to,  but  not  the  child  I  She's 
not  speaking  of  young  Noel,  Esther,  but  of  his  father. 
Come  here  to  me,  dear.    Never  mind  what  she  said." 

As  Esther  crouched  by  him,  sobbing,  the  feeble  old 
ma    put  over  her  the  protective  arm  of  her  childhood. 

"But  she  said  'make  restitution,' "  she  urged,  wrought 
upon  by  mingled  relief  and  fears. 

"Hush,  dear.  Never  mind  what  she  said  I"  he  feebly 
soothed  her. 

296 


III' 
■  lit' 


RESTITUTION 


"She  must  mind."  The  words  came  heavy  with  fate 
from  Mrs.  Sabine,  standing  there,  the  paper  in  her  lund. 

"You  wouldn't  tell  her,  after  all  these  years?" 

The  heartsick  protest  was  unheeded.  As  though  mov- 
ing under  the  force  of  relentless  fate,  her  mother  spoke 
in  slow,  even  tones : 

"Yes ;  let  her  learn  why  Cyrus  Noel's  son  will  never 
marry  her,  when  he  knows  who  she  is.  Let  her 
bear  her  share  of  the  burden.  I  have  borne  mine  long 
enough." 

With  a  new  dignity,  Mr.  Sabine  lifted  his  thin  white 
hand. 

"And  what  of  mine  ?  I  shall  tell  her  myself.  Sit  thei« 
and  listen  if  you  like." 

"No;  I  will  leave  you  alone.  I  shall  soon  know  if  you 
have  told  her  falsely." 

Esther  had  shrunk  aghast  at  this  open  display  of  long- 
nourished  wrongs,  of  latent  hatreds,  but  at  this  last  taunt 
her  protective  care  for  her  father  broke  out : 

"Mother,  how  can  you  be  so  cruel  I" 

Mrs.  Sabine  scrutinized  her  without  apparent  resent- 
ment, ahnost  as  though  she  were  weighing  the  staying 
powers  of  this  new  entrance  on  the  lists. 

"You  will  soon  know  what  has  made  me  cruel,"  she 
said  gently,  and  went  away. 

Then,  slowly,  but  without  long  hesitation,  like  one  re- 
hearsing an  oft-conned  tale,  Mr.  Sabine  told  his  life's 
story  to  his  daughter.  His  fragile  hand  shaded  his  eyes, 
and  she  never  once  raised  her  head  to  look  into  his  face, 
but  sat  beside  him  on  the  floor,  her  hand  grasping  his 
that  lay  upon  her  shoulder. 

A  youth  of  careless  ease,  with  artistic  tastes,  an  in- 
herited sleeping  partnership  in  the  family  firm  of  which 
Cyrus  N  jI  had  gradually  become  the    ruling    spirit. 

«97 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


I '': 


i  ! 


Marriage  with  a  brilliant  society  girl,  and  years  abroad 
to  cultivate  her  voice ;  a  return  home  on  the  eve  of  a  panic 
that  swept  the  country;  a  bewildered  attempt  to  under- 
stand a  complicated  busintss ;  a  quarrel  with  Joseph  Noel, 
who,  with  unabashed  cynicism,  revealed  years  of  fraud, 
from  the  results  of  which  he  had  sheltered  himself,  leav- 
ing the  firm  to  bear  the  blame.  In  frenzied  panic  Mr. 
Sabine  made  no  effort  to  clear  himself,  but  really  believ- 
ing himself  to  be  as  guilty  as  he  seemed,  if  only  through 
carelessness,  fled  with  wife  and  children  to  the  wilder- 
ness. 

"Your  mother  was  splendid,"  he  told  his  child,  with 
an  innate  loyalty  that  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  "I 
never  could  have  done  it  without  her.  You  mustn't  think 
her  hard.  Esther,  she  never  was  hard  until  the  two  chil- 
dren died,  and " 

"And  she  knew  Mr.  Dorval,"  Esther  men,  V'.y  filled  in 
the  blank,  though  nothing  was  said. 

"And  our  name  is  really  Converse?"  she  asked,  old 
memories  awakening. 
"Yes.    Who  told  you?"  with  quickened  fear. 
"No  one.    I  always  knew,  I  think— I  suppose  I  re- 
membered.   But,  father ' 

"Yes,  child." 

"She  said  'make  restitution'?" 
He  had  hoped  the  bitter  draught  of  shame  was  swal- 
tewed  to  the  dregs,  but  now  she  felt  the  nervous  start  of 
the  arm  on  her  shoulder,  and  there  was  a  quaver  of  utter 
misery  in  his  weak  voice. 

"There  were  bonds  I  could  lay  my  hands  on  quickly. 
They  were  really  hers,  but  when  we  got  here  and  she 
knew  I  had  them,  your  mother  thought  I  ought  to  return 
them.  I  would  have— to  content  her— but  how  could  I 
without  betraying  our  hiding-place— and  I  was  ill— it 
298 


•Kalller!     I'litllcr  !'  she  imirmiiud." 


RESTITUTION 


would  be  hard  to  die  in  prison "    His  voice  trailed  oflf 

into  silence,  and  F.-;U-'  drew  the  poor  shaking  arm  closer 
down  around  he-  neck. 
"Father!  Fa',  /er !"  she  tni'rmured  pitifully. 
It  was  like  a  reicl'.-g-  <  ?  soul  and  body,  that  passion  of 
sympathy  for  the  hapless  pair.  She  realized  now  the 
years-long  martyrdom  of  her  mother's  proud  integrity 
in  its  protest  against  fate ;  her  daily  toil  and  self-denial 
toward  a  fund  of  repayment ;  her  gradual  turning  from 
weakness  to  strength.  She  realized  her  mother's  suffer- 
ing, and  yet  the  warmth  of  her  heart  went  out  toward 
that  poor,  weak  father,  who  had  sat  helpless  to  watch 
home  love  and  respect  go  the  way  of  all  the  rest.  He  had 
had  her;  thank  God,  he  had  her  always.  Thank  God,  she 
had  never  failed  him. 

There  was  no  time  yet  to  think  of  her  own  fortunes. 
That  must  come  later,  though  somehow,  as  a  background 
to  this  tragedy,  deep  in  her  sensible  heart,  she  knew  that 
not  for  any  father's  errors  or  mistakes  would  Eustace 
Noel  give  up  making  her  his  wife.  He  and  she  were  too 
healthily  normal  and  modern  ever  to  torment  themselves 
with  visions  of  renunciation. 

With  what  words  she  soothed  and  comforted  her 
father  in  that  hour  of  self-revelation,  she  never  could 
afterward  have  told,  but  presently  it  was  almost  with  a 
sense  of  surprise  that,  leaning  up  close  to  him,  she  heard 
herself  saying  softly : 

"But  mother  was  right.  The  bonds  ought  to  be  sent 
back." 

"And  you  turn  against  me,  too?"  and  he  made  a  feeble 
motion  to  push  her  away,  but  she  would  not  yield. 

"No,  father,  it's  because  I  know  you  never  meant  any 
harm  that  I  want  to  prove  it  to— everyone.    Let  me  take 
them  back.    I  won't  let  a  soul  guess  where  I  came  from. 
299 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


I'll  just  tell  the  whole  story  and  then  vanish.  Who  couW 
harm  me  ?" 

She  felt  him  shiver  with  the  long-nourished  dread. 

"You  don't  know  him— a  cruel  man.  He  never  forgets. 
He'd  have  you  followed,  perhaps  arrested " 

Still  she  persisted. 

"I'm  not  afraid,  father.    It's  the  only  way." 

He  turned  his  appealing  eyes  on  her  then. 

"The  only  way  to  make  you  happy  again,  to  make  you 
forgive  me  ?"  he  quavered. 

"Father,  dear,  don't  you  know  I  care  for  you  too  much, 
understand  you  too  well,  for  any  need  of  forgiveness  be- 
tween us.  But  don't  you  see  how  it  would  comfort 
mother  ?" 

She  felt  the  thinness  of  the  ice  she  trod  on,  but  her 
steady  purpose  drove  hnx  forward. 

His  hand  was  over  his  eyes  again. 

"She  would  always  despise  me,"  he  murmured.  Then, 
with  a  flash  of  the  old  loyalty :  "Oh,  I  shouldn't  blame 
her.    Life  was  too  hard  on  her  when  she  lost  her  two 

boys— such  sturdy,  bright  little  chaps "    He  dropped 

into  silence.  Then,  the  ghost  of  his  manhood  showing 
itself  in  a  new  courage :  "Go  and  tell  her  I  am  willing 
for  you  to  go." 

Esther  obeyed  him  in  an  awed  silence. 

She  found  her  mother  in  her  room,  sitting  with  her 
hands  idly  folded,  gazing  out  on  the  bleak  monotone  of 
a  white-and-black  world.  Even  the  tall  spruce  trees  had 
no  color  in  their  darkness.  Years  after,  Esther  could  see 
that  slim  figure  outlined  against  the  outer  grayness,  and 
feel  the  heart-chill  of  that  winter  day. 

One  glance  told  that  the  mantle  of  self-repression  had 
been  drawn  around  her,  but,  all  the  same,  Esther  poured 
out  her  tale  without  leaving  herself  time  to  hesitate. 

300 


RESTITUTION 


"So  he  would  do  it  for  you,"  was  the  only  comment. 

"No.  It's  for  you  he  does  it,  mother,"  Esther  pro- 
tested, drawn  nearer  to  her  mother  by  that  trace  of  feel- 
ing. Still  Mrs.  Sabine  stared  through  the  window.  Was 
she  looking  for  some  one,  Esther  suddenly  wondered, 
with  a  fresh  chill. 

"We're  crazy,"  Mrs.  Sabine  said  abruptly.  "We're 
forgetting  all  about  the  cold  and  the  chance  'if  storm." 

To  Esther  these  familiar  facts  seemed  the  smallest  of 
things.  She  dreaded  inexpressibly  her  journey's  end  and 
its  contact  with  the  big  outside  world,  but  its  beginning 
had  no  fears  for  her. 

"Why,  the  drive  through  to  Dalhousie  is  nothing,"  she 
said,  relieved  to  have  reached  the  point  of  discussing  de- 
tails. 

"Well,  I  can't  have  you  do  it  alone." 

The  protest  was  almost  a  consent,  and  Esther  treated 
it  as  such. 

"No,  of  course  not.  Hector  Mersin  will  be  going  to- 
morrow ;  he  can  easily  take  me.  I'll  go  and  find  him  be- 
fore it  gets  dark." 

"Very  well,"  her  mother  agreed.  Then,  as  Esther  was 
turning  away :  "Wait  a  minute.  There  are  my  savings 
to  send,  too.  It's  not  much — five  thousand  dollars — but 
I've  always  meant  it  to  go  with  the  bonds.  Mr.  Dorval 
has  it.    I'll  give  you  a  note,  and  you  can  go  to  him  now." 

Feeling  to  her  inmost  being  the  effort  underlying  the 
brusque  words,  Esther  waited  in  silence  until  Mrs.  Sabine 
had,  with  her  quick  deliberateness,  written  and  closed  the 
note,  then  she  turned  away  without  a  word. 

Had  her  father  guessed,  she  wondered  in  helpless  pain, 
that  his  wife  had  given  b-r  savings  into  another  man's 
care,  to  guard  from  him  ? 

It  was  a  relief  to  be  out  in  the  still,  cold  air.    Could  it 

301 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


i 


be  only  an  hour  s  '.ce  Viiginia  had  left  her  at  the  door? 
It  seemed  like  d:  ys. 

A  lurid  yelluiv  light  had  spread,  with  sunset,  over 
the  gray  sky,  and  with  the  second  habit  of  those  used  to 
studying  the  daily  weathe.-  signs  that  mean  so  much  to 
them,  Esther,  even  in  her  absorption,  noted  the  nearness 
and  distinctness  in  outline  of  the  peninsula  hills,  noted 
the  sickly  yellow  of  the  western  light.  Everything  clearly 
warned  her  of  a  coming  storm,  but  even  while  recogniz- 
ing the  obstacle,  she  was  past  caring  for  it.  No  storm 
should  stop  her,  she  determined. 

She  had  not  far  to  go,  for,  nearing  Dorval's  gate,  she 
saw  him  coming  up  the  road,  and  stopped  to  wait  for 
him.  He  was  dressed  for  tramping,  though  he  carried  no 
snowshoes  on  his  back  and  wore  a  Norfolk  jacket,  bulky 
over  a  sweater,  with  moccasins,  and  long  stockings  pulled 
up  to  his  knees.  The  dress  gave  him  an  air  of  youthful 
activity,  as  he  swung  along  with  the  lightness  of  unshod 
feet.  What  a  contrast  to  her  poor  facher  in  there  by  the 
fire,  Esther  thought,  and  then  shrunk  back  from  the  dis- 
loyalty of  the  comparison. 

"Where  are  you  oflf  to?"  he  greeted  her,  a  quiet  satis- 
faction in  his  face. 

'I  was  waiting  for  you.    Mother  sent  you  this  note." 

She  thought  her  words  were  simply  matter-of-fact,  but 
there  must  have  been  something  in  them  or  in  her  voice 
to  cause  his  quick  glance  of  inspection. 

"It's  too  cold  for  you  to  stand  here.  Will  you  come  up 
to  the  house,  or  shall  I  go  in  with  you  ?"  was  all  he  said. 

"I'll  go  up  with  you,"  she  decided  promptly.  Her  one 
thought  was  to  protect  hor  fathi.r  from  his  entrance  in 
the  old  familiar  fashion  just  now. 

"All  right." 

Again  that  quick  glance,  and  then,  as  he  followed  her 
30? 


RESTITUTION 


up  the  narrow,  shove'.ed  board-path  to  the  house,  he 
scanned  the  note. 

Why,  as  they  went,  did  Esther  remember  an  overheard 
gossip  of  which  the  argument  was,  "there  nust  be  some 
reason  for  so  rich  a  man  as  Mr.  Dorval  staying  on  in 
Lanse  Louise"  ? 

She  had  constantly  been  in  and  out  of  his  house  on  er- 
rands to  iiis  housekeeper,  or  io  some  of  the  Httle  festivi- 
ties he  gave  to  his  boy  apprentices,  and  the  orderly  com- 
fort of  his  private  sanctum  was  no  new  thing  to  her.  To- 
night, however,  it  struck  her  with  a  new  sense  of  con- 
trast with  the  shabby  austerity  of  her  home  sitting-room, 
an  austerity  that  within  the  last  hour  had  taken  a  new 
meaning  in  her  eyes. 

Instead  of  the  ordinary  white  Quebec  stove,  brass  and- 
irons supported  the  weight  of  glowing  logs  on  the  open 
hearth. 

From  a  big  brown  bear-skin,  Dorval's  old  black-and- 
white  setter,  Meg,  rose  to  greet  him  with  gentle  dignity, 
and  his  deep  armchair  before  the  fire,  with  the  low  table 
beside  it  heaped  with  papers  and  magazines  and  smoking 
things,  told  of  the  coming  evening's  comfort.  A  shaded 
lamp  was  already  lit,  and  red  curtains  drawn  over  the 
windows. 

"Sit  down  there  and  I'll  get  your  chocolates.  There's 
no  hurry,  I  suppose  ?" 

From  childhood  Esther  had  always  been  served  from 
a  special  supply  of  French  chocolates  when  ?lic  came  to 
the  house,  but  now  she  shook  her  head. 

"Yes,  there  is,"  she  said,  still  standing.  "I'm  going  to 
Boston  to-morrow  on  business  for  father,  and  I  must 
hurry  home." 

Quietly  as  she  made  the  statement,  she  could  not  but 
feel  that  he  must  recogn'ze  its  significance. 

303 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


He  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece  and  studied  her  for 
a  quiet  moment,  and  she  proudly  set  her  face  to  indiffer- 
ence under  the  scrutiny  of  the  dark  gray  eyes  beneath 
their  long  black  lashes,  though  the  familiar  friendliness 
sorely  tried  her  composure. 

"To  Boston  I"  he  said  slowly.  "Well,  and  how  are  you 
goin^  to  get  to  Boston,  or  rather  to  Dalhousie?" 

"I'm  off  now  to  see  if  Hector  Mersin  can  take  me  with 
him  in  the  mail  to-morrow  morning." 

"It's  going  to  storm." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"And  you  must  go?" 

"Yes." 

"And  it's  for  that  your  mother  wants  the  money  ?" 

"Yes." 

Through  these  answers  there  sounded  an  unfamiliar 
sense  of  defiance,  instead  of  the  old  friendly  dependence 
of  years,  but,  if  he  felt  it,  he  took  no  notice. 

He  stooped  and  kicked  the  logs  together  with  his  foot, 
and,  as  she  watched  the  inscrutable  face  in  the  firelight, 
strange  fancies  surged  through  her  brain.  She  would 
hardly  have  been  surprised  in  that  moment  if  he  had 
turned  to  reveal  to  her  that  youth  had  stepped  into  the 
place  of  maturity,  that  she,  not  her  mother,  was  now  the 
motive  power  of  his  days. 

"See  here,  Esther,"  he  said  suddenly.  "You  can't  go 
like  that,  in  this  weather.  Why  not  wait  a  day  or  two 
till  the  moon  changes?" 

"I  can't.  I  must  go,"  she  gasped,  every  nerve  strung 
up  to  immediate  action. 

"Very  well.  If  you  must ''  he  agreed  philosophi- 
cally. "For  the  last  week  or  so,  I've  been  planning  a  trip 
to  New  York  or  further  south,  and  I  might  as  well  come 
along  with  you  now.    My  ponies  will  take  us  through  a 

304 


RESTITUTION 


good  sight  quicker  than  Hector  Mersin's  horses  can,  and 
the  sleigh's  more  comfortable " 

For  a  moment,  as  they  faced  each  other,  those  insur- 
gent fancies  neld  her  speechless  with  a  strange  dread. 
Then  the  compelling  gray  eyes  aroused,  almost  in  spite 
of  herself,  the  loyal  trust  of  years  in  the  tried  comrade- 
ship that  had  never  failed  her.  Was  he  doing  it  for 
her  mother,  or  was  he  doing  it  for  her?  She  did 
not  care.  He  was  Mr.  Dorval,  who  had  always  been 
her  friend  and  mainstay,  who  would,  more  than  ever, 
be  it  now. 

For  the  first  time  that  day,  tears  brimmed  her  eyes. 

"How  good  in  you!"  she  murmured.  "Now  I  shan't 
mind  anything." 

At  her  words,  the  straight  line  of  his  black  brows  re- 
laxed. 

"And  there's  nothing  else  you  want  seen  to  before  you 
go?"  he  asked  casually  enough,  to  clear  the  air  of  its 
emotional  weight. 

"No,  thanks."  Then,  with  a  start:  "Oh,  yes,  the 
money " 

"That  will  be  all  right.  Tell  your  mother  I'll  see  that 
you  get  the  check  in  Boston." 

He  was  opening  the  door  for  her  now,  and  from  the 
warmth  and  light  she  went  out  into  the  intense  cold  of 
the  twilight.  The  yellow  glow  was  lost  in  a  universal 
grayness,  against  which  the  hotel  lights  already  outlined 
orange  squares. 

All  at  once  Esther  realized  what  those  orange  lights 
meant  to  her — home,  the  one  spot  on  God's  earth  where 
she  belonged. 

The  mere  fact  of  the  outside  cold  and  coming  storm 
made  the  warmth  and  shelter  of  ho-ne  seem  at  that 
moment  something  infinitely  precious  to  her,  but,  giving 
305 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


the  gathering  sense  of  forlornness  no  time  to  lay  hold 
upon  her,  she  hurried  back. 

The  next  morning,  as  she  and  Dorval,  both  muffled  in 
furs,  drove  off  from  the  hotel  door,  the  first  few  scattered 
flakes  were  already  falling.  He  had  not  left  his  seat  in 
the  sleigh,  and  Mrs.  Sabine  merely  appeared,  wraith-like, 
at  the  open  door  and  called  a  "Good-bye"  after  Esther 
before  closing  it. 

"There's  no  wmd,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  cheer, 
as  he  pulled  the  fur  robe  up  round  her,  "and  if  it  doesn't 
drift,  we'll  get  through  all  right." 

What  they  would  do  if  it  did  drift,  neither  of  them 
thought  it  necessary  to  put  into  words. 

Though  the  wind  did  not  rise,  the  snow  was  soon  a 
white  veil  between  them  and  all  but  the  nearest  trees. 
The  beaten  roads,  smooth  and  hard  as  marble,  over  which 
the  horses  skimmed,  began  before  long  to  get  heavy  and 
their  progress  slower.  With  hot  bricks  at  her  feet  and 
her  fur  collar  turned  up  so  as  to  leave  just  a  slit  for  her 
eyes,  it  was  some  time  before  the  cold  crept  around 
Esther,  but  while  she  was  still  warm  enough,  she  saw 
Dorval  beating  first  one  hand  and  then  the  other  against 
his  knees.  The  ponies  had  left  off  pulling  now,  and  their 
bells  sounded  muffled. 

They  did  not  talk,  for  turning  the  head  to  speak  or  lis- 
ten made  cracks  for  the  snow  to  sift  in,  and  that  white 
veil  dulled  their  voices. 

When,  after  a  long  three  hours,  Dorval  drew  rein  at 
the  lonely  roadhouse  amongst  the  woods,  where  they 
were  to  eat  a  mid-day  dinner  and  rest  the  horses,  the 
French  host  greeted  their  familiar  faces  with  amazement, 
not  to  say  disapproval. 

"This  is  no  day  for  lady's  peekneek.  Miss  Esther.  Me 
think  you  know  that." 

306 


RESTITUTION 


Esther  laughed  rather  qucerly  as,  stiff  from  inaction, 
she  made  for  the  ope    door. 

"You're  right,  I^uis.  But  this  isn't  a  picnic — Mr.  Dor- 
val  is  taking  me  through  to  the  railway." 

"Mr.  Dorval  vvili  stay  here.  He  will  not  take  you  on 
to-day,"  her  host  announced  confidently,  hurrying  out 
after  Dorval  to  the  stable. 

But  when  the  two  came  into  the  house  his  confidence 
was  changed  to  gloom,  and  as  they  fell  to  on  a  savory 
meal  of  hare  soup  and  moose  steak  with  the  appetite  won 
by  their  long  drive,  he  came  and  went  with  latest  bulle- 
tins of  the  weather,  and  prognostications  of  worse  to 
come. 

Esther  was  guiltily  reading  Dorval's  preoccupation 
through  his  silence,  and  at  last  made  an  effort  to  say  to 
him: 

"I  don't  want  to  be  foolish  about  running  any  risks, 
you  know.  If  there's  really  a  doubt  about  our  getting 
through,  it  would  be  better  to  stay  here,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  smiled  at  !'cr  in  the  old  indulgent  fashion,  that 
seemed  at  that  moment  very  comforting. 

"You're  not  afraid?  You'd  rather  go  on?"  he  asked, 
as  though  her  wishes  were  the  thing  that  mattered. 

"What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of?  Of  course,  I'd  rather 
go  on.    Only,  I  don't  want  to  do  anything  foolish." 

"You  shan't,"  he  reassured  her.  "We'll  start  at  any 
rate.    We  can  always  turn  back." 

They  each  silently  recollected  the  narrow  road  running 
on  for  miles  through  the  woods,  with  no  clearing  to  make 
turning  possible,  but  neither  thought  it  necessary  to  men- 
tion the  fact. 

At  their  host's  next  entrance  Dorval  checked  the  latest 
bulletin  on  his  lips  with  calm  determination. 

"See  liTe,  Louis.    We  know  it's  snowing,  and  that  "t's 

307 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

likely  to  snow  all  night,  perhaps  for  a  week.  All  the 
more  reason  we  shouldn't  get  stuck  here.  We're  going 
to  start  in  half  an  hour,  and  if  we  can't  push  through,  at 
least  to  New  Carlisle,  we'll  turn  at  the  Joggins'  cross- 
roads and  come  back.  So  try  to  put  the  best  face  on  it, 
and  give  us  some  of  that  good  coffee  of  yours,  and  a  glass 
of  that  green  Chartreuse  that — fell  from  Heaven — I 
mean  to  say,  from  St.  Pierre." 

These  last  significant  words  created  such  a  diversion 
that  their  host  beat  a  flustered  retreat,  followed  by  a  light 
laugh  from  Esther. 

This  bracing  of  her  nerves  to  fight  the  elemental  forces 
was  putting  the  home  tragedy  into  the  background,  or 
rather  into  its  right  perspective  in  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


our  IN  THE  STORM 

THEY  did  start,  and  they  did  reach  their  des- 
tination, though  the  early  darlc  had  already 
come  when  the  smoking  horses  turned  into 
the  hotel  yard.  No  need  to  check  them  now. 
They  were  as  glad  as  strayed  children  to  shelter  from 
the  loneliness  of  the  coming  night  in  the  haunts  of  man. 

And  to  Esther,  too,  stiff  and  chilled  to  the  heart,  the 
white  electric  light  of  the  scattered  little  town,  throwing 
long  rays  on  the  falling  snow,  brought  an  inexpressible 
sense  of  relief  from  that  nightmare  of  veiled  gray  forest, 
hill  upon  hill  climbed  and  descended,  with  no  view  of 
human  habitation,  not  even  an  animal,  a  blank,  dead 
world  in  which  she  and  Dorval  were  alone,  driving  on 
to  some  unattainable  bourne. 

The  sleigh  bells  sounded  distant  through  the  clouding 
snow,  and  when,  at  rare  intervals,  they  spoke,  their  voices 
had  the  same  lifelessness  in  them. 

"Wait  till  I  help  you  down.  You'll  be  too  stiff  to 
move,"  Dorval  said,  as  the  horses  stopped  at  the  back 
door  of  the  big  wooden  building. 

"And  what  about  you?"  she  returned,  with  a  brave 
covering  of  her  deadly  fatigue. 

"Oh,  me !  I'm  used  to  it,"  he  said,  lifting  her  down  in 
liis  arms.  She  was  glad  enough  of  his  support,  while 
the  tingling  life  came  back  to  her  cramped  limbs,  and  it 

309 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


was  with  his  arm  holding  hers  that  they  entered  the 
Hiuare  lighted  hall,  half  office,  half  smoking-room,  and 
general  village  lounge. 

The  big  glowing  stove  was  encircled  by  men,  whose 
casual  talk  flickered  into  silence  as  they  turned  to  stare 
in  solemn  amazement  at  the  apparition  of  travelers,  and 
one  a  woman,  on  such  a  night. 

"I  expected  you  along,  some  time,  Mr.  Dorval,  be- 
cause of  a  wire  as  has  come  for  you,  but  I  never  thought 
as  you'd  push  through  to-night,  and  as  for  fetching  along 
a  lady— why.  Miss  Sabine,  that  ain't  never  you?" 

Esther  heard  this  greeting  voice  of  Mr.  McNaughton, 
the  landlord,  as  though  it  came  from  a  great  distance. 
Then,  all  at  once,  the  glaring  electric  light,  the  orange 
glow  from  the  stove,  wavered  around  her,  and  she  swayed 
against  Dorval,  who  half  led,  half  carried  her  into  a  cozy 
little  living-room. 

Here,  when  the  vagueness  cleared,  she  found  herself 
in  a  deep  rocker  before  the  stove,  while  Mrs.  McNaugh- 
ton, a  withered  little  woman  with  kind  eyes,  was  admin- 
istering hot  whisky  and  water  in  sips. 

"Where's  Mr.  Dorval  ?"  Esther  asked,  bewildered. 

"I  just  told  him  to  leave  you  quiet  an'  I'd  see  to  you. 
Mac's  getting  him  something  hot,  too.  He  needs  it,  I 
guess,"  the  good  woman  said. 

Esther's  heart  smote  her. 

"Yes,  he  drove  most  of  the  time,"  she  said  with  a  new 
sense  of  indebtedness. 

"For  sure  it  was  a  crazy  day  to  be  starting  on  a  jour- 
ney.   Mr.  Dorval  ought  to  have  known  that." 

"It  was  all  my  fault,"  Esther  explained  apologetically. 
"I  had  to  go  to  Boston  in  a  hurry,  and  he  brought  me." 

"Land  sakes !    You've  never  been  there  yet,  have  you  ?" 

Gossip  was  as  the  breath  of  life  to  Mrs.  McNaughton, 
310 


OUT   IN   THE   STORM 

and  she  knew  the  family  affairs  of  places  farther  up  the 
'  (jn^t  than  Lanse  Louise. 

"No,  we're  going  on  to-night  to  catch  the  Maritime  at 
the  Junction." 

The  good  woman  shook  her  head. 

"I  doubt  your  doing  it,"  she  said.  "Afore  milking-time 
Mr.  Boggs  told  John  the  express  was  six  hours  behind 
time  then,  an'  he  doubted  if  it  got  through  afore  morning. 
You'll  have  lots  of  time  for  a  rest,  anyway.  Look  here, 
my  girl  Bessie  that  teaches  down  at  Pogwock  hasn't  got 
back  to-night,  an'  her  room's  just  in  there,  nice  an'  warm, 
ready  for  her.  You  come  an'  lay  down  an'  get  a  good 
sleep." 

The  prospect  seemed  infinitely  alluring  to  Esther,  stu- 
pefied with  the  warmth  after  her  long  drive  in  the  frost. 

Dorval,  coming  in  just  then,  told  the  same  story. 

"You're  sure  to  get  a  good  night's  rest,"  he  said,  "and 
that  will  make  all  the  difference  afterward.  Anyway,  I'll 
see  you're  called  in  plenty  of  time  if  the  train's  starting. 
You'll  trust  me,  won't  you,  to  do  the  best  I  can  for  you  ?" 

Esther  looked  up  at  him  as  he  stood  before  the  fire, 
and  though  he  smiled  as  he  met  her  gaze,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  his  face  was  haggard. 

"You're  tired,  too  ?"  she  asked. 

He  drew  a  deep  breatii. 

"Oh,  well,  it's  all  in  the  day's  work,"  he  said,  rather 
wearily.  Somehow,  just  then  she  remembered  the  tele- 
gram that  awaited  him,  and  wondered  if  it  came  from 
Lanse  Louise,  but  she  did  not  ask.  He  must  get  so  many 
business  telegrams. 

Once  in  bed,  Esther  fell  into  the  sleep  of  utter  ex- 
haustion, and  woke  to  find  the  sun  making  a  glow  on  the 
frosted  windows.  Rather  dismayed  at  the  thought  of 
having  thus  overslept  herself,  she  hastened  to  dress  and 

M  3" 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


join  Dorval  sitting  over  his  breakfast.    She  had  slept  oflf 
yesterday's  fatigues  and  looked  her  usual  bright  self. 

Not  so  Dorval.  In  the  clear  morning  light  he  looked 
positively  ghastly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dorval,  aren't  you  well?"  she  gasped,  forget- 
ting the  question  she  meant  to  ask  about  the  train.  The 
idea  that  he  should  be  tired  or  ailing  was  startlingly 
novel. 

"I  had  neuralgia  in  the  night— a  bad  tooth,"  he  said 
shortly.    Then:    "Come,  you  must  make  a  good  break- 
fast in  preparation  for  a  long  day.    Drink  your  coffee 
while  it's  hot" 
"Yes,  but  the  train?"  Esther  persisted. 
"Drink  sMne  coffee,  and  I'll  tell  you." 
She  tried  to  obey,  but  watched  him  anxiously  the  while, 
and,  apparently  jarred  by  her  scrutiny,  he  left  his  pre- 
tense of  eating,  and  said,  with  enforced  quietness : 
"The  train  started  an  hour  ago.    We're  not  going  on." 
"And  I  trusted  you  1"  she  broke  out.    Then,  impressed 
by  a  strange,  smitten  look  in  his  face,  she  faltered  with 
a  new  fear : 
"There  isn't  .  .  .  there's  nothing  happened  at  home?" 
Silence,  and  his  only  movement  was  to  lean  his  head 
on  one  hand,  covering  his  eyes. 

"Who  sent  you  that  telegram?"  she  demanded  desper- 
ately. 
"Your  mother." 

For  an  instant  she  was  swept  by  a  mingled  sense  of 
relief  and  disappointment.  Their  courage  had  failed  at 
the  last,  then.  She  was  spared  her  hated  task,  but,  oh,  at 
what  a  cost  to  pride  and  honor ! 

"They  can't  have  changed  their  minds  ?"  she  lamented. 
She  had  spoken  as  much  to  herself  as  to  him,  but  he  an- 
swered without  hesitation : 

312 


OUT  IN   THE   STORM 


"No,  they've  not  changed  their  minds,  but  .  .  .  it's  too 
late."  The  last  words  came  slow  and  heavy,  as  thoueh 
forced  from  him. 

She  did  not  wonder  at  his  apparent  knowledge  of  their 
family  affairs.  It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  thought 
that  he  knew  more  of  them  than  she  did. 

A  canary  sang  his  best  in  the  window  above  the  green 
plants.  The  sun  poured  into  the  room,  and  the  logs 
crackled  m  the  stove,  but  the  girl  shivered,  for  she 
Knew. 

"You  must  try  to  be  brave,"  she  heard  the  quiet  voice 
say,    for  you  have  a  hard  time  ahead." 

"It  can't  be  father!"  Her  stiff  lips  hardly  formed  her 
protest  agamst  fate,  but  Dorval  heard  it,  for  he  bowed 
nis  head. 

She  sprang  up  as  though  to  hurry  off  at  once 
"He's  ill  and  wants  me?    He's  not  dead-says  he', 
not  deadl 

In  her  desperation  she  clasped  his  arm  and  shook  it. 
Oently  he  took  her  hand  in  his,  saying: 

"Yes.  it  was  over  at  once.  Your  mother  found  him 
dead  m  his  chair,  but  .  .  .  listen.  Esther.  Your  mother 
said  to  tell  you  that  he  was  smiling,  for  in  his  hand  he 
fteld  a  letter  from  his  old  partner  acknowledging  that  he 
had  been  blameless.  She  thinks  he  had  read  it,  for  she 
had  taken  it  to  him  some  time  before,  and  she  thought 
afterward  she  had  heard  him  call  her.  Think,  Esther  he 
died  happy." 

She  drew  her  hand  away,  and  sat  down  in  silence. 

It  was  an  incongruous  scene  for  the  newness  of  her 
intimate  sorrow— this  big,  bare  hotel  dining-room  in  the 
white  diffused  light  from  the  snow  outside. 

"He  died  happy.  He  died  happy."  she  repeated  to  her- 
self meaninglessly.  Somehow,  she  couldn't  think  or  feel 
313 


MARCUS   HOLBKACH'S    DAUGHTER 


\  et.    "Why  didn't  you  tell  me  last  night  ?"  she  demanded 
suddenly. 

"Because  we  could  do  nothing  then,  and  you  needed 
the  night's  rest." 

She  knew  he  was  right,  but  broke  out  wildly : 

"I  must  go  back.  Oh,  surely,  you  won't  stop  my  going 
back  now!" 

"Before  God,  I'll  do  all  I  can,"  he  said  deeply.  Then : 
"But  if  we  have  to  wait,  you'll  try  to  be  patient." 

"Yes,"  with  an  appealing  look.  "Please,  you  mustn't 
think  me  horrid." 

"I  understand."  And  then  he  led  her  back  to  her  room 
and  left  her  alone. 

He  must  have  cautioned  Mrs.  McNaughton,  for  she 
did  not  come  near  her,  and  the  house  was  very  quiet. 

Esther  tried  to  feel,  tried  to  see,  but  for  a  while  she 
could  realize  nothing.  Then,  all  at  once,  the  worn, 
fragile  face  with  its  appealing  smile  came  clear  to  her 
vision,  and  she  wept  out  her  grief. 

Unlike  Virginia,  she  had  the  daily  intimate  companion- 
ship of  years  to  add  to  her  sense  of  loss,  but,  Uke  so  few 
mourners,  she  could  say  to  herself :    "I  never  failed  him." 

It  was  an  hour  before  Dorval  sent  to  ask  her  to  come 
to  the  sitting-room. 

He  took  one  look  into  the  wan,  grief-ravaged  face,  and 
turned  away.  Was  he  thinking  of  the  change  since  her 
morning  greeting,  so  short  a  time  ago? 

"The  mail  has  managed  to  get  through,"  he  said,  "and 
though  the  going's  heavy,  there  are  no  drifts.  We  can 
start  when  you  like.  At  any  rate,  we're  sure  to  get  as 
far  as  Mersin's  to-night.  You'd  rather  try  it  than  stay 
here,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes."  she  said  with  clasped  hands.     Then, 
with  a' sudden  recollection:    "But  you  were  going  on  to 
314 


OUT   IN    THE   STORM 


New  York?  You  mustn't  come  back  on  my  account. 
David  will  look  after  me,  all  right,  you  know." 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  then  she  felt  with  a 
pang  that  she  had  wounded  him  by  thus  putting  him  out- 
side her  sorrow. 

At  last  he  spoke  with  careful  gentleness. 

"Even  if  I  chose  to  let  you  return  alone,  I  don't  care  to 
go  on  to  New  York  just  now.  Your  father  and  I  knew 
each  other  for  a  long  time,  Esther." 

"Thank  you,  I'm  glad  you're  coming  back,"  was  all  she 
murmured,  but  it  seemed  to  content  him. 

She  asked  to  see  the  telegram,  and  pored  over  each 
word  as  though  it  might  reveal  more  to  her. 

As  she  sat  there  in  his  familiar  companionship,  it  be- 
gan to  dawn  on  her  that  now  she  was  free  to  put  into 
words  things  she  had  always  before  dreaded  to  realize. 
Slowly  the  fear  of  shame  for  one  so  dear  was  passing 
from  her,  and,  in  its  passing,  leaving  a  sense  of  peace. 

He  was  safe  now  from  all  evil. 

"You  knew  why  they  came  to  Lanse  Louise?"  she 
asked. 

"Yes,  in  a  way,  I  could  hardly  have  helped  guessing 
something.  I  happened  to  be  on  board  the  boat  they 
came  on,  and  they  were  so  helpless  at  first  that  I  had  to 
do  what  I  could  for  them.  You  were  such  a  little  thing 
then,  Esther." 

She  listened  breathlessly,  realizing  that  past  as  she 
never  had  before. 

"I  never  was  told  the  story,"  he  went  on,  seeing  his 
talk  did  her  good,  "but,  of  course,  I  could  tell  that,  what- 
ever it  was  that  made  him  a  fugitive,  your  father  was 
more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  Any  one  who  knew 
him  as  long  as  I  did,  must  have  felt  that.  I'm  not  much 
in  the  way  of  texts,  but  there's  one  I  used  to  learn  as  a 

31S 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


child  that  always  seems  to  me  to  suit  him :    'Blessed  are 
the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God.' " 

His  voice  was  low  and  reverent,  and  soothed  Esther 
like  a  charm. 

"Oh,  you  always  understand,"  she  sighed. 

And  now  Mrs.  McNaughton  appeared  at  the  door,  her 
nervous  manner  showing  how  strong  had  been  Dorval's 
cautions  against  condolences. 

"David's  all  ready,"  she  said  stiffly. 

Presently,  as  Esther  stood  at  the  door,  wrapped  for  the 
drive,  while  Dorval  inspected  the  horses  outside,  the  land- 
lady pui  into  her  hand  a  small  parcel. 

"Mr.  Dorval  seemed  to  think  as  I'd  hurt  your  feelin's 
if  I  said  anything— me  that  has  buried  me  first  husband 
an'  three  children  I  But  here's  the  flowers  off  me  white 
geranium.  It's  done  wonderful  well  this  year,  an'  you 
give  them  to  your  ma  with  my  love.  Keep  the  box  close 
to  you  under  the  furs  an'  it  won't  freeze." 

"I  will,  dear  Mrs.  McNaughton,  I  will,"  Esther  said, 
touched  by  the  simple  gift.  She  knew  what  eaci  ->f  these 
winter  blossoms,  reared  in  the  windows,  means  in  frost- 
bound  homes. 

They  drove  out  into  a  golden,  white  and  azure  world. 
Each  roof  of  the  village  drew  a  line  as  resplendent  as 
Giotto's  Campanile  against  the  hard  blue  arch  that  curved 
cloudless  overhead. 

The  village  left  behind,  they  entered  the  snow-shrouded 
forest  as  into  a  shrine.  There  had  been  no  breath  of  w-nd 
as  yet  to  shake  free  the  bent  pines  and  the  pyramidal 
spruce  from  their  fresh  load,  and  the  burdened  trees 
seemed  to  form  great  cathedral  aisles  down  the  road  vis- 
tas. This  sight  of  Nature  in  her  high  places  was  in- 
finitely grand,  but  on  Esther's  bereaved  heart  the  wintry 
splendor  struck  austerely  cruel.    She  would  have  felt 

316 


OUT   IN   THE   STORM 


yesterday's  storm  a  part  of  herself,  but  this  chill,  daz- 
zling sunshine  seemed  like  some  tremendous  opposing 
force  with  power  to  crush  her. 

With  the  storm,  the  worst  sting  of  the  frost  had  passed, 
and  presently  Dorval  turned  down  his  big  collar  a  bit, 
saying : 

"It  must  be  fifteen  or  twenty  above." 

Few  words  passed  between  them  as  Dorval  drove  and 
she  sat  beside  him.  The  echo  of  the  beils  through  the 
woods,  the  smooth  motion  of  the  sleigh,  lulled  thoughts 
into  peace. 

"We're  making  better  time  than  I  expected.  The 
snow's  packing.  I  believe  we'll  get  through  to-night, 
after  all,"  was  Dorval's  next  remark. 

He  was  right.  They  reached  the  half-way  house  be- 
fore three,  and  there  was  no  question  of  stopping  there. 
After  a  hasty  meal  they  started  on  that  long  last  stretch, 
with  the  bereaved  home-coming  ever  nearer.  Her  sorrow 
was  no  longer  unreal  to  Esther  now.  The  gloom  of 
that  darkened  room  seemed  already  to  have  engulfed  her, 
as  they  drove  on  through  the  deepening  glory  of  the  short 
December  day. 

The  forest  shadows  stretched  a  deeper  violet  over  the 
amber  of  the  road,  the  western  sky  faded  from  rose  into 
a  pale  vivid  green  flecked  with  crimson  cloud  streaks,  and 
then  it  all  paled  into  a  blue-gray  world  with  the  stars  for 
stabs  of  light  overhead. 

It  was  familiar  enough  to  Esther,  the  splendor  of  that 
winter  panorama,  and  yet  today  it  struck  her  with  a  new 
sense  of  aloofness,  and  in  her  sad  heart  she  longed  for 
one  glimpse  of  the  homely  companionship  of  grass  and 
leaves. 

Even  the  very  sea  could  give  no  friendly  greeting  when 
they  skirted  the  shore  or  looked  down  from  some  hill- 


317 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


crest  on  to  the  stretch  of  frozen  bay.  Its  changing 
beauty  was  all  hidden  away  under  a  hard  covering, 
smooth  and  white  as  marble. 

Those  last  hours  of  darkness  seemed  very  long.  A  low, 
waning  moon  was  sending  its  level  rays  along  the  forest 
vistas  as  they  left  the  woods  behind  them  and  drove  down 
into  Lanse  Louise. 

Esther  shuddered  and  pressed  nearer  to  Dorval  when 
they  passed  the  little  cemetery,  and  he,  guessing  her 
thoughts,  said  encouragingly: 

"Your  mother  will  be  on  the  lookout  for  us  about 
now." 

Sure  enough,  as  they  swept  up  to  the  inn,  against 
the  lighted  sitting-room  window  was  outlined  a  black  fig- 
ure, staring  out  on  the  night. 
"Oh,  mother,  mother !" 

With  the  cry  came  a  wonderful  wave  of  tenderness  to 
Esther's  heart.  For  the  time,  all  was  forgotten  save  that 
they  belonged  to  each  other  and  could  mourn  their  dead 
together. 

Without  waiting  for  David,  as  the  sleigh  stopped  she 
had  the  bearskin  unfastened,  and  was  out  and  up  the 
steps  just  as  the  door  opened  to  enframe  Mrs.  Sabine's 
figure  in  orange  light. 
"Esther!" 
"Mother!" 

And  Esther  was  clasped  in  her  mother's  arms  as  she 
had  not  been  since  childhood. 

Dorval  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  steps,  watching 
them,  then  he  came  up,  took  Mrs.  Sabine's  hand  in  his, 
and  went  silently  away,  and  the  door  closed  on  him. 

It  was  merciful  to  both  mother  and  daughter  that 
Esther  in  her  worn-out  state  could  be  tended  like  a  child. 
After  one  glance  at  that  still,  white  face  in  the  death 
318 


OUT    IN    THE    STORM 


chamber,  the  girl  broke  down,  and  Mrs.  Sabine  helped 
her  to  bed  and  then  fed  her  with  hot  soup,  murmuring : 
"It  was  enough  to  kill  you,  doing  two  such  days  together. 
I  hoped  you  wouldn't  come  to-day,  and  yet  I  knew,  I 
knew  .  .  ."  and  she  laid  her  cheek  against  the  loose 
waves  of  hair  with  a  tenderness  her  daughter  had  never 
known. 

The  next  morning  as  Esther  lay  resting  in  bed,  she 
pleaded:    "Mother,  show  me  the  letter." 

Mrs.  Sabine  drew  the  crushed  paper  from  her  dress  as 
though  it  were  too  precious  to  be  far  from  her  and  as 
Esther  grasped  the  last  thing  her  father's  hand  had 
touched,  she  kissed  it,  then,  through  her  tears,  read : 

Dear  Sabinb: 

You'll  wonder  to  hear  from  me  after  all  these  years, 
but  my  boy's  been  bullying  me  these  last  three  months, 
and  he  can  bully,  for  it  seems  his  mother  told  him  things 
before  she  died,  so  that  ever  since  he  wouldn't  touch  one 
note  of  my  money.  He  says  he's  going  to  marry  your 
daughter  and  that  you  and  your  wife  still  take  things 
to  heart  as  much  as  ever.  So,  as  I  feel  old,  and  they  tell 
me  I've  not  much  longer  to  live,  I've  given  in,  and  am 
going  to  clear  things  up,  so  that  when  the  boy  comes 
back  from  the  woods — he's  the  only  boy  I've  got — he'll 
make  friends  with  me  before  the  end.  It  was  always  a 
marvel  to  me  that  you  didn't  see  there  was  no  blame  on 
you,  but  it  was  a  case  of  self-preservation  to  get  you  out 
of  the  way,  and  I  knew  you  wouldn't  go  unless  you  were 
frightened  into  it.  Once  they'd  got  you  mto  court,  your  evi- 
dence might  have  sent  me  to  jail.  I  was  sorry  for  you, 
in  a  way,  and  I'm  not  sure  but  if  your  fine  lady  wife  had 
been  less  stand-oflfish  to  mine  that  I  mightn't  have  tried 
to  let  you  down  easier.  However,  it's  too  late  to  think 
of  that  now.  It's  all  an  old  story,  and  you  and  I  are  old, 
too.  But  the  money  I  did  you  out  of  will  be  in  the  bank 
to  your  account  in  two  days,  and  you  can  draw  what 
you  like  then.  Anyway,  perhaps  writing  this  will  make 
It  easier  for  me  at  the  last. 

319 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


The  once  bold  signature,  "Cyrus  Noel"  trailed  off  into 
weakness,  and  Esther,  even  while  her  heart  burned 
within  her  for  the  wasted  years  and  the  dear,  crushed 
life,  felt  th'  pitifulness  of  it  all. 

Her  mother  stood  beside  her  while  she  r«ad,  and 
now,  as  Esther  looked  up  at  her  in  mute  pain,  she  said 
in  a  low  and  vibrant  voice : 

"You  see  what  he  says.  But  for  me,  your  father  would 
have  been  spared." 

Then,  every  other  feeling  swept  away  by  a  tide  of  fierce 
resentment,  Esther  cried : 

"Ah,  no,  no  I  That  sneer  was  the  last  rfowning  cru- 
elty of  a  low  mind.    Promise  me  to  forget  it  I" 

A  new  softness  came  into  Mrs.  Sabine's  eyes  as  she 
bent  to  kiss  her  daughter. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


WEDDING  BELLS 

MR.  SABINE'S  funeral  was  over,  and  the 
long  winter  monotony  closed  down  once 
more  upon  Lanse  Ixmise.  Axes  rang  in 
the  woods,  sleig'.i  bells  echoed  along  the 
smooth  roads  from  heavily  laden  lumber  teams,  and  the 
tracery  of  snowshoe  tracks  alone  broke  the  white  ex- 
panse of  the  clearings.  It  seemed  to  Virginia,  in  these 
days,  that  never  before  had  she  realized  the  solitude  of 
winter.  Immediately  after  the  funeral  Dorval  had 
started  south,  and  his  friendly  voice  was  missed  at  the 
Blufi  House. 

Worse  than  this  was  the  blank  when,  a  week  or  two 
hter,  on  a  cloudless  morning,  with  hard-beaten  roads  and 
a  full  moon  giving  promise  of  good  traveling,  Mrs.  Sa- 
bine and  Esther  started  on  the  long  drive  to  the  railway 
junction. 

"We're  going  to  Boston,  or  anywhere— it  doesn't  much 
matter  where,  so  long  as  I  get  mother  away  from  sitting 
at  the  window,  staring  at  the  snow.  Rosalie  and  Philip 
can  kx)k  after  the  hotel,"  Esther  said  to  Virginia,  with 
an  echo  of  determination  in  her  voice. 

As  Virginia  turned  from  watching  them  drive  away,  a 
great  sense  of  isolation  came  over  her. 

All  those  who  had  made  her  world  seemed  passing  out 
of  her  reach  one  by  one,  and  nothing  had  been  heard  of 
Jack  since  that  telegram  of  Noel's,  sent  before  the  snow 
3fli 


i< 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 

came.  What  was  the  North  and  the  wilderness  doing  to 
him  away  off  there,  and  why  had  he  not  managed  to  send 
her  some  word  of  his  welfare?  Did  he  know  of  her 
father's  death?  Was  he  tasting  success  or  failure? 
Oh,  how  hard  it  was  to  know  nothing,  and  just  to  wait  I 

Wistfully  she  haunted  the  little  pink  cottage,  and  drew 
what  comfort  she  might  from  Mrs.  LeRoy's  sturdy  op- 
timism; but  there  were  days  when  solitude  seemed  her 
only  refuge,  when  she  dared  not  disturb  the  mother  with 
her  fears.  At  these  times  she  was  wont  to  drive  or  snow- 
shoe  for  miles  through  the  silent  woods,  causing  Miss 
Creighton  much  secret  anxiety  in  her  dread  of  starving 
wildcats  or  wolves. 

It  was  the  end  of  a  still,  overcast  winter  afternoon, 
comparatively  mild  for  those  regions,  a  few  days  before 
Giristmas,  when  just  before  its  sinking,  the  sun  had 
broken  through  the  western  clouds,  staining  them  and 
the  white  world  below  a  lurid  crimson. 

Virginia,  coming  back  from  a  drive,  had  passed 
through  the  long  village  street  and  by  the  little  French 
Church  with  its  big  black  wooden  cross  keeping  its  watch 
and  ward  gulfward,  and  was  nearing  her  own  gate.  The 
solemnity  of  the  woods,  the  weirdness  of  the  red  li^t, 
had  helped  to  deepen  the  sense  of  desolation  that  pos- 
sessed her.  In  the  silence  of  that  mystic  twilight  she  felt 
herself  to  be  one  solitary  unit  in  limitless  space. 

Her  pon_  vas  tired,  and  she  was  driving  careless^  with 
a  loose  rein,  when  she  saw  a  man  in  the  road  ahead  pause 
just  her  side  of  the  Bluff  House  gate. 

Now  the  man  wore  a  raccoon  coat,  and  such  being  the 
pet  antipathy  of  Kitty,  she  tightened  her  grasp  on  the 
reins.  The  turn  in  at  the  gate  was  sharp,  and  she  did 
not  mean  the  cutter  to  be  tipped  over  into  the  snow  by 
any  pranks  of  Miss  Kitty's. 

322 


WEDDING   BELLS 


Hearing  the  bells,  the  man  stood  aside  from  the  nar- 
row track  to  let  the  sleigh  pass.  His  'coon  cap  was  pulled 
low  on  his  forehead,  overshadowing  his  face,  but  the  red 
light  was  full  on  it  as  he  turned  to  look  back— and  it 
was  Jack's. 

For  one  fearsome  moment  she  thought  of  his  ghost 
seeking  her  with  a  last  message  from  the  far-off  wilder- 
ness, then,  as  the  blue  eyes  flashed  their  welcome,  she 
knew  that  it  was  he  come  back  to  her  in  the  flesh. 

"Jack!" 

"Virginia  I" 

Kitty  gave  a  swerve,  and  floundered  in  the  deep  snow. 
Jack  reached  out  an  arm  to  catch  her  bridle,  and  Virginia 
called :    "Don't  touch  her  I    It's  the  fur  she  hates." 

"She  ought  to  be  used  to  it.    Stand  still,  you  brute  I" 

Virginia  laughed  helplessly;  the  greeting  was  so  like 
Jack.  As  if  recognizing  the  urgency  of  his  grasp,  Kitty 
did  stand  still,  so  that  he  was  able  to  lean  over  the  sleigh 
and  take  her  free  hand  while  their  lips  met. 

"Oh,  but  Jack,  when  did  you  come,  and  why  didn't  you 
let  us  know  ?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"I  came  ten  minutes  ago  in  the  mail  team,  and  I  wanted 
to  surprise  you." 

"And  you  did !  But  it's  been  so  long,  and  I've  been  so 
anxious  I" 

"Anxious?    What  about?" 

"Oh,  everything.  Those  men  who  were  trying  to  get 
the  mine  ..." 

Jack  laughed. 

"Oh,  we  got  rid  of  them  weeks  ago.  Virginia  Camp  is 
started,  and  the  mine's  doing  wonders  already,  though 
nothing  to  what  it's  going  to.  We've  each  been  work- 
ing like  twenty,  but  if  I'd  guessed  you'd  be  anxious  I'd 
have  got  a  message  down  before  the  frost  came.    I  came 


323 


lillMl 


MARCUS   HOLBRACH'S   DAUGHTER 

away  now  to  see  about  sending  up  machinery  for  the 
mine,  and  all  sorts  of  things,  though  I  wasn't  sure  if  I 
ouffht  to  come  down  here,  until  .  .  ."  he  checked  himself. 
Then,  with  lowered  voice,  his  face  close  to  hers : 

"Virginia.  I  heard    from    the    Tathems    about  your 
father.    That  was  why  I  couldn't  write.    I  couldn't  say 
what  I  felt.    I  just  had  to  come  at  once." 
"Hut  they  didn't  tell  you  the  rest?"  she  whispered. 
"What  rest?" 

There  was  a  certain  sharpness  of  dread  in  the  words. 
Was  anything  to  come  between  him  and  her  now  ? 

"That  he  said  at  the  last  that  you  were  to  take  care  of 
me,  and  that  he  left  you  half  his  share  in  the  mine." 
"God  bless  him,"  Jack  breathed  fervently. 
Kitty  pawed  the  snow  restlessly  at  this  most  unpardon- 
able delay  between  her  and  her  warm  stable.    With  this, 
Virginia  awoke  to  a  sudden  sense  of  her  surroundings. 

"Oh,  and  poor  Kitty  hasn't  even  a  rug  on  her!    What 
will  Louis  say  if  she  catches  cold  I    And  your  mother, 
Jack!    Why,  she  doesn't  know  you're  here?" 
"No." 

"Oh,  jump  in  quick  and  we'll  drive  across.  Turn 
round,  Kitty,  you  can't  go  to  your  stable  yet." 

To  both  it  seemed  a  symbol  of  the  new  order  of  things 
when  Jack  got  in  beside  her  and  fastened  the  furs  around 
them. 

"Take  the  reins,"  the  girl  whispered. 
Jack  gave  the  low  laugh  of  one  who  is  almost  bewil- 
dered by  happiness.    He  had  known  all  through  the  past 
weeks  of  toil  that  Virginia  would  be  loyal  to  him,  but  he 
had  expected  a  long  separation,  a  probation,  perhaps,  of 
years,  and  this  swift  entrance  into  possession  was  over- 
whelming. 
It  was  marvel  enough  to  drive  at  her  side  through  the 
324 


WEDDING   BELLS 


villsKc,  past  the  group  at  the  post-office,  here  in  the  fight 
of  all  their  world ;  but  once  down  the  Bluff  road  and  out 
on  the  stretch  of  frozen  river,  the  twilight  solitude  en- 
wrapped them  like  a  rare  and  precious  thing. 

After  sunset  the  clouds  had  parted  in  the  west  to  open 
a  great  space  of  primrose  sky,  where  a  young  moon  sailed 
high.  Kitty,  depressed  by  this  sudden  reverse  of  fate, 
went  soberly,  and  Jack  was  free  to  put  one  arm  round 
Virginia  and  draw  her  close  to  him. 

She  breathed  a  little  sigh  of  utter  content. 

"How  unhappy  I  was  one  evening  I  snowshoed  across 
here  last  winter,  when  we  had  no  news  of  you,"  she  mut^ 
mured. 

"And  have  you  been  unhappy  lately?"  he  asked  ten- 
derly. 

"I  was  anxious  for  you  and  sad  for  father.  But, 
even  then,  it  wasn't  like  last  winter.  I  had  your  love  at 
my  heart  to  keep  it  warm." 

"Please  God,  you'll  have  that  to  our  lives'  end." 

One  of  the  spruce  trees,  set  to  mark  the  road,  brushed 
Jack's  shoulder,  scattering  a  handful  of  snow  over  the 
furs.  Kitty,  neglected,  was  avenging  herself  by  making 
a  devious  track  of  her  own. 

In  a  glad  revulsion  of  feeling,  Virginia  laughed  out. 

"You're  a  nice  one  to  trust  myself  to  I"  she  said. 

"Well,  you're  going  to,  all  the  same,  aren't  you?"  was 
his  sturdy  answer. 

"Yes." 

The  light  from  the  pink  cottage  behind  the  spruce  trees 
shone  out  like  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world,  or  like 
the  steadfast  heart  of  the  old  woman  who  had  lit  it. 
Within,  the  living-room  seemed  brimming  over  with 
warmth  and  savory  odors,  for  Mrs.  LeRoy  had  just 
drawn  from  the  oven  her  first  batch  of  Christmas  cakes. 


3aj 


I'  If  It ' 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 


and  stood  looking  proudly  down  on  their  shining  brown 
ovals. 

From  the  open  stove  came  the  intense  red  glow  from  a 
fire  skillfully  made  of  green  alder  branches. 

"There's  no  fire  like  it  for  baking,"  Mrs.  LeRoy  was 
wont  to  say. 

"Well,  an'  them  cakes  has  come  out  wonderful,"  she 
mused  aloud.  "I  don't  care.  I  won't  tell  even  Virginy 
for  fear  of  her  thinkin'  me  an  old  fool,  but  one  of  them 
I'll  frost,  an'  put  away  in  a  biscuit  tin  till  the  day  as  Jack 
comes  home  to  eat  it.  An'  't  won't  be  long  either,  for  I 
seed  him  clear  last  night,  an'  he  sings  out :  'I'm  coming, 
mother,'  just  as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  little  kid 
an'  I  called  him  in  to  his  tea  when  the  pollock  were  jump- 
ing crazy  to  the  flies.  The  Lord  save  us  I  What's  the 
matter.  Czar?"  she  broke  oflf  sharply.  The  setter  had  left 
his  rug  by  the  fire  to  sniff  at  the  door,  whining  uneasily 
the  while. 

Then  she  heard  the  crunch  of  a  footstep  on  the  hard 
snow  and  the  opening  of  the  outer  porch  door. 

Flinging  wide  the  inner  one,  she  saw  Virginia  stand- 
ing there,  her  face  a  rosy,  smiling  vision  in  its  dark  fur 
frame. 

Steeling  her  heart  against  its  charm,  Mrs.  LeRoy  broke 
out  into  protest : 

"Well,  you  ain't  ever  come  over  alone  in  the  dusk,  after 
all  I've  told  you  of  the  ice  breakin'  up  suddint  an'  people 
bein'  carried  right  out  into  the  Gulf." 

The  girl  seemed  quite  unimpressed  by  this  caution, 
caressing  the  fawning  dog  and  answering  lightly : 

"Not  in  December,  when  the  Gulf's  frozen  for  miles 
out.    But  I'm  not  alone.    The  sleigh's  down  at  the  gate." 
Mrs.  LeRoy  was  now  scanning  her  face  with  a  strange, 
new  interest,  realizing  the  change  in  it. 

326 


WEDDING    BELLS 


"But  who's  intil  it  ?"  she  asked  with  a  suddenly  tremu- 
lous hand  on  Virginia's  arm.  With  an  ecstatic  yelp,  Czar 
dashed  past  Virginia,  and  a  volley  of  barks  sounded  from 
the  darkness. 

The  answering  laugh  was  very  soft. 

"No  one's  in  it,  but  someone's  fastening  Kitty  and  cov- 
ering her  up  warm,  and  then  he's  coming  up  here  and 
we're  going  to  have  tea." 

"Someone !  So  Jack's  come  back  ?"  The  words  were 
spoken  with  all  the  quiet  certainty  of  conviction. 

"Oh,  you  V.  itch  I  How  did  you  guess?"  and  Virginia 
was  now  fluttering  around  her,  with  little  pats  and  hugs. 
No  one  in  Lanse  Louise  but  she  would  have  dared  to  use 
the  word  "witch"  to  Mrs.  LeRoy. 

"I  knew  'cos  I'm  a  witch,  and  'cos  he  came  an'  told  me 
last  night  he  was  on  the  road.  See,  now,  if  I  ain't  got  his 
cake  baked." 

"Oh,  and  how  good  it  smells !" 

Virginia  hovered  over  the  cakes,  and  busied  herself 
loosening  her  furs,  while  the  mother  stood  in  the  door- 
way and  greeted  her  son. 

"Come  in  and  get  the  door  shut,"  said  Jack.  "Don't 
you  see  Virginia's  got  her  coat  off?" 

Mrs.  LeRoy  chuckled  to  herself  at  this  care  for  the 
girl,  while  she  herself  faced  the  frost  in  her  cotton  dress. 
Jealousy  was  a  thing  unknown  to  her  big  heart. 

Jack  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  Virginia,  who  with  cap 
and  coat  doffed,  looked  so  marvelously  at  home  in  the 
poor  little  ro(»n. 

"I'm  going  to  set  the  table  and  make  the  toast,"  she 
announced.  "Jack,  your  mother's  been  teaching  me  to 
cook,  and  I  can  bake  bread  and  wash  clothes." 

But  her  lover,  close  beside  her  now  before  the  stove, 
looked  horrified  at  such  an  idea. 


327 


MARCUS    HOLBEACH'S    DAUGHTER 

"Well,  you're  never  going  to  have  a  chance  to,  if  I  can 
help  it,"  he  protested.  "Why,  we've  a  Frenchman  up 
there  that's  as  handy  about  the  house  as  any  woman,  let 
alone  he's  got  a  wife  that's  asking  nothing  better  than  to 
be  fetched  up  to  the  mine." 

The  toasting-fork  Virginia  held  wavered  down  into  the 
fire,  and  the  slice  of  bread  on  it  burned  unheeded,  as  she 
turned  on  him,  radiant  with  the  joyful  cry : 

"Oh,  Jack,  then  you're  really  going  to  take  me  back  to 
the  woods  with  you  ?" 

Jack  turned  scarlet  in  the  strife  between  desire  and 
scruples. 

"A  winter  journey  would  be  a  risky  thing  for  you,"  he 
hesitated,  "though  if  we  fitted  up  a  toboggan  with  two 
men  to  draw  it,  it  would  be  light  enough  going  on  the 
lakes  .  .  ." 

"Of  course  it  would  I"  she  triumphed.  "What  stories 
you're  telling  I  Why,  you've  been  planning  it  all  out! 
Tell  me  now,  on  your  honor,  haven't  you  got  any  place 
there  I  could  live  in?" 

Scruples  were  gone  now,  and  Jack's  blue  eyes  shone 
with  hope.  "Yes,  there  was  a  good  log  hut  finished  for 
Noel  and  me  before  the  snow  came,  and  there's  another 
building  now,"  he  said  with  a  great  air  of  impartial  state- 
ment. 

"Who's  that  for?" 

"Well,  we  thought  we'd  each  like  one  to  ourselves,  you 
know." 

"To  yourselves !  Selfish  things  I  Go  on  I"  Then,  with 
an  admonitory  finger :  "Still,  on  your  honor,  is  there  any 
reason  I  shouldn't  do  it  ?" 

Jack's  hold  on  himself  was  gone,  and  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms.     His  mother  had  retreated  to  the  scullery  to 
skim  the  milk,  and  they  were  in  possession. 
328 


WEDDING    BELLS 


"There's  no  reason,"  he  breathed  deeply,  "when  you're 
80  brave  and  wonderful." 

"And  you'd  like  me  to  go?"  she  whispered. 

"Like  you?"  Speech  was  inadequate,  and  he  didn't 
try  it. 

"Then  why  are  you  afraid  ?"  she  persisted. 

"I'm  not  afraid  that  you  wouldn't  be  equal  to  anything, 
but  .  .  ."  he  hesitated  before  finding  words — "you're  so 
dainty  and  precious,  and  it's  rough  and  rude  up  there  I 
But,  oh,  Virginia,  you'd  be  like  a  queen  among  them  all 
if  you  came !" 

She  laughed  soft  and  low,  her  head  on  his  breast. 

"I'd  love  to  be  a  queen.  Let's  ask  your  mother  what 
she  thinks." 

Mrs.  LeRoy,  hailed,  heard  the  case  stated  by  the  two 
in  concert,  and  took  no  time  to  deliberate  her  answer. 

Sitting  down  heavily  in  her  big  rocker,  she  an- 
nounced : 

"Well,  it's  just  what  I'd  do  meself  if  I  were  a  g^rl,  an' 
I  know  I'd  never  repent  it.  Even  if  you  was  to  be  cold 
an'  hungfry  once  in  a  while,  which  I'm  sure  you  won't, 
with  Jack  round,  there's  worse  things  than  cold  an'  hun- 
ger, an'  that's  lettin'  the  days  of  your  youth  go  by  with- 
out tastin'  the  good  of  them.  You  can't  begin  bein'  happy 
a  day  too  soon,  to  my  mind." 

Jack  gave  a  shout. 

"You're  right,  mother.  We'll  begin  at  once.  Of 
course,  I've  been  planning  nothing  else  for  weeks,  while 
all  the  time  I  was  afraid  it  was  too  much  to  ask.  And, 
after  all,  it's  not  a  question  of  the  mine  at  once,  for  there's 
business  to  keep  me  more  than  a  month  in  Quebec,  and 
then  I'll  have  to  stop  at  St.  Maudez  to  see  the  things 
started  off  up  the  trail,  and  at  the  St.  Maudez  Inn  you'd 
be  as  comfortable  as  you  would  be  at  home.   Old  Guillou 

329 


MARCUS   HOLBEACH'S   DAUGHTER 


will  cook  you  wonderful  dishes  of  game,  and  all  his  fam- 
ily will  make  much  of  you." 

"But  you'll  be  there  always.  Jack?"  Virginia  asked 
anxiously. 

"I'll  be  up  and  down  the  trail,  seeing  the  stuflf  on  its 
way,  but  never  for  more  than  a  day  at  a  time,  and  when 
it's  fine  we'll  take  you  along  on  a  sled." 
"I  can  go  on  snowshoes,"  she  said  proudly. 
"And  then,  in  the  spring,  after  we're  settled  down, 
Noel  will  go  off  and  fetch  Esther,"  Jack  announced  with 
satisfaction. 

"It  will  be  just  like  Lanse  Louise !"    Then,  with  a  sud- 
den  thought,   Virginia  pleaded:    "Oh,  but  Jack,  your 
mother  must  come,  too  I" 
"Of  course  she  must !" 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  the  mother's  face,  but  she 
shook  her  head  bravely : 

"Me !  What  would  you  do  with  an  ignorant  old  thing 
like  me  when  you  get  grand  and  rich  up  there  ?" 

"Being  grand  is  a  long  way  off  yet.  You've  got  to 
come,  mother,  to  teach  the  girls  how  to  manage.  They'd 
never  get  on  without  you,  and  you'll  do  the  doctoring  for 
every  one.  I'll  get  you  up  all  right  in  a  canoe  in  the 
spring." 

A  prophetic  vision  of  future  ministrations  had  dawned 
on  Mrs.  LeRoy,  and  drew  her  like  a  magnet. 

"I  ain't  afeard  of  canoes,"  she  said,  "and  if  you'll 
promise  to  build  me  a  little  house  all  to  myself,  I'm  not 
saying  I  won't  come  a  bit  later." 

"You  proud  old  thing !"  said  Jack,  with  a  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  He  understood,  and  loved  her  fierce  inde- 
pendence. 

"We'll  have  Mr.  Dorval  up  there  nert,"  Virginia 
chimed  in  gleefully.    Then,  in  swift  dismay :    "Oh.  but 

330 


WEDDING    BELLS 


Jack,  I  forgot !  He's  my  guardian,  and  I  can't  get  mar- 
ried without  his  leave,  and  he's  away  off  in  Egypt  some- 
where.   Oh,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"We'll  cable  him."  Jack  spoke  sturdily,  but  there  WM 
an  anxious  shadow  on  his  face. 

He  knew  what  most  guardians  would  say  to  such  a 
request.  But  perhaps  Dorval,  remembering  his  own 
youth,  agreed  with  Mrs.  LeRoy  that  it's  best  to  begin  to 
be  happy  as  soon  as  one  can,  for  the  answer  was  favor- 
able. 

Then,  on  a  wonderful  winter  morning,  when  the  sun 
was  turning  a  white  bridal  world  into  gold,  a  little  group 
was  gathered  at  the  English  Church  to  see  Virginia  mar- 
ried to  Jack. 

Tom  Tathem  and  his  wife  had  taken  the  long  journey 
through,  so  that  he  might  give  the  bride  away,  and  she 
might  help  to  dress  her.  Virginia's  heart  throbbed  with 
pride  when  she  saw  with  what  frank  friendship  they 
treated  Jack. 

The  church  had  donned  its  Christmas  decoration  of 
evergreens  and  red  berries,  and  Virginia,  though  ready 
for  traveling,  wore  under  her  furs  the  white  woolen 
dress  with  the  red  clasps  that  she  had  on  the  night  of  her 
quarrel  with  Giles. 

"Oh,  aren't  they  lovely !"  Mrs.  Tom  whispered  to  Miss 
Creighton,  as  they  watched  the  two  plighting  their  troth, 
he,  in  his  fair,  broad-shouldered  bulk,  with  a  tremor  of 
awe  on  his  set  face,  she  beside  him,  slim  and  dark,  a  won- 
derful light  in  the  soft  eyes  upturned  to  him. 

At  the  church  door  waited  Dorval's  black  ponies,  with 
Virginia's  fox-terrier  perched  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
sleigh,  and  Czar  peering  out  from  behind,  and  in  the  glory 
of  the  morning  light  they  set  out  together  on  their  life's 
journey. 


331 


MARCUS  HOLBEACH'S  DAUGHTER 


"We  1,  if  it  ain't  lilcr  the  end  of  a  fairy-tale  I"  said  Mrs. 
LeRoy,  as  she  helped  Miss  Creigiiton  into  the  Bluff 
House  sleigh 


[iHiam] 


R 

Mrs. 

Bluff 


® 


Appleton's  Recent  Books 


NOVELS 

JAPONETTE  (The  Turnins:  Point).     By 

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"The  Firing  Line,"  "The  Fighting  Chance,"  "lole,"  etc 

With  S6  pictures  by  Charlea  Dana  Gibson.      Inlay  on 

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"Japonette"  i>  one  of  tlie  most  delightful  itories  Mr.  Chamben  luu 
ever  written.  It  is  tiie  romance  of  a  bevrilderingly  pretty  girl  and  a  young 
New  York  society  man.  Juat  as  they  come  to  know  each  other.  Fate 
steps  in  and  lendieTS  them  both  pennUeas  by  wrecking  the  great  firm  in 
whidi  their  fortunes  are  investra.  How  the  idle  young  man,  without 
occupation  or  profession,  is  moved  to  swing  about  and  take  up  the  busi- 
ness of  life  in  disad  earnest  is  told  with  the  brilliance  and  animation  whidi 
are  Mr.  Chambers's  chief  assets.  "Perhaps  there  are  some  people  who 
would  not  like  'Japonette';  il  such  there  are  one  ought  to  be  sorry  for 
them." — ^Boston  rnmsort^. 

THE  PRICE  SHE  PAID.  By  David  Oimbam 
Phillips,  author  of  "The  Grain  of  Dust,"  "The  Hus- 
band's  Story,"  "Old  Wives  for  New,"  etc.  12mo.  Cloth, 
fl.SO  net     Postpaid,  $1.43. 

**Tiie  Price  She  Paid"  is  the  story  of  a  young  woman,  raised  in  luxury 
and  idleness,  who  by  the  sudden  death  of  her  father,  a  thrown  upon  her 
own  resources.  Talented  and  determined,  she  sets  out  to  be  an  <^ra 
singer,  but  the  way  is  long  and  rough  and  she  is  obliged  to  pay  the  full 
price  before  success  crowns  her  efforts.  "Little  idea  is  conveyed  in  a 
brief  outline  of  the  terseness  and  vigor  of  the  story.  It  is  a  very  signifi* 
cant  bo(A  for  a  variety  <d  reasons." — Philadelpkia  1Pt«»».  "It  is  a  questicm 
whether  ammg  the  doiens  of  floh  and  blood  people  whom  David  Graham 
PhiUq»  has  created  there  be  one  more  ^umely  real  thui  this  Mildred 
Gower.  Again  the  marvel  of  the  man  u  upon  us  in  the  full  measure  el 
his  nalirtie  artistry."— ITaaMiitofi  8tar, 
ai 


Appleton's  Recent  Books 
THE  SINS  OP  THE  FATHER.    By  Tbo«« 

Dixon,  author  of  "The  aanmun,"  ••The  Leopud'i 
Spoti,"  etc.  With  16  pietUKi  by  John  OuwL  ISmo. 
Qoth,  11.39  net     Pottpeid,  11.47. 

nf  .1?^?*  ?"?"'■  "?»  "^  wile  rommnce  of  the  South  ii  eMay  the  beat 
of  a^^  ',  •'"}:•'«'?'«■"•  novd..    The  theme  i.  d.ri^S?'^' 

3SIh  Tr  ^  •  ^■l"'™  »<J«t»o  wonan.    But  the  tiSteSt  ii 

m^  S^IL  J.    ^  ^  «l»Pt»p  or  couMnew  mui .  resUy  wble  tsle. 
Thta.  m  mow  w»y.  th«i  one.  i.  .  noUble  book."-C*ioB^  Bimi-UtlSu. 


THE  POSTMASTER.    By  Jo^ph  c.  Li«»in. 

author  of  "Cap-n  Warren'.  Warf.,"  "The  Depot  Master," 
"The  Woman-Hater.,"  etc.  lUuitnted.  Qoth,  $1.80 
net     Poatpaid,  9l.4g. 

&^h\r^:3te?.z:i^xi--^HS 


THE  DEPARTMENT  STORE.   ByM.,pi«te 

Bohme.    TnuuUted  from  the  German  by  Ethel  Colbum 
Mayne.     12mo.     aoth,  $1.30  net.     Poatpaid.  $1.42. 

^  "^!?^^'ii**  *^"  "'  ^^^  ?«  laid  in  a  gnat  department 
md  lin^rt  ^  i™*^"  ^  '"  "'P'""  «*■•'•  ■'  ■*  <*«»>i<^'«  o'  Se  birth 
r^,ti^^^°S^i?"^*"'*'"P<'""r-  'The  Department  Store- i. 
SinS.^^jr^''d'^S»''"y"»*''''e'>ook.    Artiong.bold,un- 


